Stain Glass Heart
by LiveHardDieHonest
Summary: It wasn't their idea. They would have been fine without it. But someone should remind Santana to thank Quinn. Brittany already was. AU
1. Impressions

Author's Note: While watching the end of the season finale, a friend of mine, who is a die hard Brittana fan, posed the question "What if Brittany just smooth talked Santana, can you imagine a romantic flustered Santana." At first I laughed cause I thought it'd be cute, but then I sat down and wrote this. He read it and asked me to post it; so I did. Oh and I know the end of this story already, it's actually already written, but I'm working on the middle.

Disclaimer: Like every gleek out there I, regretable did not think of Glee before Ryan Murphy and thus do not own it. It's on my bucket list though.

* * *

><p>"Santana Lopez, open this door right now!" Quinn pounded on the door like a mad woman, which at this point was an understatement. Santana had locked herself in the bathroom over half an hour ago.<p>

"No!"

"It was not a question. You open this door right now, you're going to be late and then I'm going to have to slap the bitch out of you."

"I don't wanna go!"

"What are you, twelve? You promised!"

"Did not!" Quinn rolled her eyes heavily. She had known Santana since they were in diapers and it was a well known fact that she could be stubborn to a fault, but this was ridiculous. She was acting like a coward and that was something Quinn had never known her to be. "Yes you did, two weeks ago. I can repeat the conversation if it would help."

Santana sat on the bathtub rail, arms crossed and scowl in place, listening to Quinn recount every word she had said with enthusiasm, mimicking Santana perfectly. Quinn being right in one of their arguments irked Santana to her core.

"Make me ask you one more time and so help me, Lopez," Quinn paused as she realized she hadn't thought this sentence out before she started. There had to be something she could hold over her, something to make her concede. A sly smile found its way onto Quinn's face. "I'm going to mistakenly attach a picture of a certain dark haired beauty that happened to be taken senior year in an outstandingly adorable outfit to the work list serve on Monday."

Santana jolted up and tore the door open. "You promised me you'd delete that."

"I did," Quinn smiled, "but since you're out here, get dressed. You're late." Quinn turned to go but yelled back over her shoulder, "We're leaving in ten minutes, whether you're dressed or not."

Santana stood in the door way to her closet fuming at herself for being tricked by Quinn of all people. It wasn't that she didn't want to go; it was that she prided herself on picking her own Friday night plans, even if nine times out of ten those plans were getting trashed at Eddie's Bar down the block; it worked for her. It had nothing to do with her nerves.

* * *

><p>A stunning blonde sat in a booth playing with her straw and looking at her watch every thirty seconds. She had been there since 7:45. It was now 8:17. Punctuality was a mark of pride for her; she hated to keep people waiting. Obviously this wasn't a problem for her dinner partner. Leaning fully against the back of the seat, she was beginning to think this was a bad idea.<p>

* * *

><p>"Quinn, don't make me go." Santana was whining again. Quinn sighed with annoyance.<p>

"Where is your pride, girl! You're Santana Lopez! You're going to go in there, you're going to sit down and have a normal meal with a beautiful, funny, down to earth woman and you're going to enjoy yourself, do you understand me?"

Santana dropped her shoulders in defeat, "fine let's go."

"Oh no, sweetie, I said _you_ were going in there, I'm going out tonight."

"What the hell, Quinn! You promised you were coming with me!"

"And as the creator of these plans, I have the right to change them." She kissed her friends cheek and ran away towards her car. Stunned, Santana could only watch as she started to realize she now had no choice.

"Do you have a reservation?" Santana looked up and suddenly regretted not asking Quinn who it was they, or rather she, was meeting for dinner.

"Um, I don't but I'm supposed to be meeting someone here. I don't know her name though."

"Are you Miss. Lopez?" Obviously Santana was the only one who didn't know what was going on. When she nodded, the large man in front of her smiled and ushered her into the dining area.

The table was empty when Santana arrived save a half empty glass. Her face must have given away her thoughts when the man placed a menu where she was supposed to sit and smiled. "She'll be back; she's been here for half an hour. I doubt she'd leave now."

Santana awkwardly smiled back but suddenly felt like the coward Quinn discovered she was. She didn't mind being fashionable late, but late in general was rude. As the waitress brought her drink, which Santana was proud to say contained no alcohol, she started fighting back her nerves.

Brittany had come out of the bathroom and stopped dead in her tracks. Sitting in a once vacant seat was a woman Brittany couldn't help but smile for; _Wow._

* * *

><p>"Move over. I can't see." Kurt and Mercedes were fighting for dominance as they both tried to gain the best position to spy on the date they played a prideful hand in setting up.<p>

"Oh, look, Brittany's coming back!" Mercedes was giving the play call well aware that Kurt couldn't see.

"If you'd move over I could see."

"Guys, stop. If either of you ruin this, I'm going to make you handle Santana. Do you know how long it took me to get to agree to come, much less get her out of the house?"

"We're not ruining anything. They can't even see us. Mercedes, move your knee!"

"Pathetic."

* * *

><p>"Hey." The outstretched hand made Santana freeze. In front of her stood a striking blonde giving her a gorgeous smile making her forget what to do next. Finally remembering her manners, she stood up and took it. "Hi. Nice to meet you."<p>

"Santana, right?"

Her name caught Santana by surprise. "Wait, why did you get to know my name? Quinn didn't tell me yours."

"Brittany."

"Why does everyone get to know what's going on and I don't?"

"Is this 20 questions or dinner?" Brittany laughed, intrigued at how nervous her date was.

Santana immediately retreated; she hadn't meant to say that out loud. "Sorry."

The silence that ensued was awkward for Santana as she spent it trying not make it obvious that she was staring.

"You look beautiful by the way," Brittany finally said hoping to make the woman in front of her more comfortable.

While Santana knew she looked hot, she was taken aback by the compliment; this girl was a smooth talker.

"Look, can I be honest with you?" Brittany's nod allowed her to continue. "I don't do this," she motioned her hand between Brittany and herself to accent what 'this' meant. "I don't get all dressed up and go to dinner where reservations are required just to sit here and not drink and I certainly don't do it with people my nosey soon to be six feet under best friend decides I should." Santana hadn't walked in dinner thinking she was going to be, well herself, but here she was being normal, uptight, bitchy Santana. She looked up to find that the woman sitting across from her smiling broadly.

"Is that funny?" Santana was more confused than annoyed, but the annoyance was present.

"No, it's cute."

_Cute_. The word sounded foreign when describing Santana. "Cute? I am not cute."

"No, you're not cute; like I said you're beautiful, but your nervousness is absolutely adorable."

_Someone has an confidence the size of a small country_, Santana thought.

"Forward much?"

"Honest."

* * *

><p>"What's happening?" Kurt asked hurriedly.<p>

"Nothing new since you asked five seconds ago, so shut it and let me watch."

Quinn rolled her eyes as she watched her friends make fools of themselves. Although she was curious, she'd rather wait until she got home to ask Santana; it was bound to be a much more entertaining story than the question session she was getting now.

* * *

><p>"So, I suppose I should ask what you do." Santana loathed small talk, but she'd rather be awkward in conversation than awkward in silence.<p>

"You could do that," the blonde responded knowing she was making this entirely too hard on her nervous date. What's a life without a little bit of fun?

Santana expected Brittany to answer the question not actually make she ask it. She waited a few moments hoping she would take the initiative. When she didn't, Santana knew she'd actually have to ask again; possibly more politely and interested this time.

"Brittany, may I ask you a question?" Santana forced out.

"Sure."

"What is it that you do for a living?" Santana was mad at herself for letting someone else dictate the conversation, but right now she just wanted to get out of this date without Quinn being able to use it as a warning later in life.

"I dance."

Dance was not the answer Santana expected, but now that she was thinking about it, her date did have the right build. She was slightly impressed at the oddity of the profession and knowledge that to be a professional dancer in today's world one had to be the best at what they did.

"What kind of dance?" The question came out a little quicker than she had wanted it too. She sounded too interested.

"All of them." The answer astounded Santana. _Damn, she must be incredible._

Brittany noticed the impressed look that now beamed from Santana's face. She chuckled internally under the feeling that Santana was about to notice her expression and quickly move to change it. This might be the first time she'd met her, but Brittany had heard enough from Quinn about the notorious Santana Lopez to know that she would not allow herself to be anything but the leader in a situation.

Snapping back into the date in front of her, Santana let the conversation gradually fade not wanting to sound overly excited about any of this.

* * *

><p>"They're leaving." The comment came out as more of a question. Kurt rushed over and pushed Mercedes aside to verify that in fact the two girls were standing up and walking away from the table.<p>

"What, it's only been half an hour. Quinn you need to talk to your girl about making things last a little longer." Quinn laughed at the double sided nature of the comment before answering. "Kurt, with how long it took me to get her here, I'm surprised it lasted that long."

Neither Kurt nor Mercedes fully understood the mystery that was Santana. Even in high school, after she stopped giving them slushy facials, they were never allowed to see past her rough exterior the way Quinn had. Nevertheless, they wanted their semi-friend to find complete happiness.

"I expect a full update in the morning about whatever she tells you." Kurt pointed directly at Quinn . "You too, Mercedes, I know Brittany tells you everything."

Laughing at their seriousness, Quinn simply said goodnight and began the trek to her car.

* * *

><p>Cool winds slapped Santana in the face reminding her that summer was ending. Brittany had held the door open for Santana and a few people after, but quickly rejoined her with a smile. Santana hated awkward goodbyes more than small talk, which was saying something. She would have been fine to just walk away without another word.<p>

"Alright, well I'll be seeing you," Brittany as she turned around to walk away.

Shocked, Santana practically yelled, "That's it? No utterly charming, perfectly worded goodbye. No 'can I see you again,' 'I had fun', nothing?" What was with this girl? First she says and does all the right things, and then she spoils the goodbye. Not that Santana minded, seeing as that was her plan, but she wasn't the one being beyond perfect tonight, she was allowed to just walk away.

Brittany grinned. "I thought it was obvious that I wanted to see you again, or were all the compliments too subtle for you?"

There she went again, putting words in the perfect order to make Santana actually consider them, want to believe them.

"I thought if you wanted to see me again, you'd find away. You seem to have things figured out. But if it makes you feel better, I did have fun watching you attempt to not check me out and I would like to see you again." With that she turned and walked away leaving a bewildered completely entranced Santana to watch her.


	2. Empty Vases

Authors Note: First off, ya'll are absolutely wonderful to alert, favorite and review this. I am flattered. I honestly didn't think anyone else would enjoy this other than my crazy obsessed friends; I'm not complaining though. Moving along, Chapter 3 and I are fighting right now, it wants to head one way and I want to go the other and we are both stubborn, so it might be a few days before I can get that one up. This part might seem like a filler, but I consider it relevant because I love writing Quinn and Santana's relationship. I truly hope I don't disappoint.

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><p>Closing the front door behind her, Santana was barely coming out of the trance the blonde had put her in. Absentmindedly placing her purse on the hall table, she took off her jacket and threw her keys in the glass bowl with Quinn's.<p>

Making her way into the living room she dropped down on the couch next to her roommate who was flipping mindlessly through the 800 or so channels they had. "What's the point in having these channels, if nothing is ever on?"

Santana grunted her reply showing the now obvious fact that she wasn't paying attention to a word Quinn said. "I take it dinner went well," she voiced while settling on a rerun of Deadliest Catch. When silence filled the room, Quinn looked over and tried to hide her laugh. Santana looked like someone had just stolen her lunch money and then made her believe it was her idea.

"Have a good time?" Quinn asked again after successfully managing to quiet her laugh.

"I have no idea," Santana answered as she turned to face her roommate. "I…and then she was….and then I said….then she just…." Pure confusion laced Santana's face and Quinn had her confirmation that making her go that night was the right decision. She hadn't seen Santana this flustered ever.

"You going to see her again," Quinn asked returning her attention to the television. She knew that, with Santana's pride, there would be a second date. Her friend was too egotistical to be left in this state without at least attempting to return the favor.

"Where are you going?" Santana had started to walk away without answering the question which surprised Quinn.

"Bed."

_Yep_, Quinn thought, _there will be a second date._

* * *

><p>Mercedes barely gave Brittany time to take her keys out of the door before she shot her a fiery string of questions.<p>

"Why are you home so early? Did you have a good time? Wait; did she have a good time? Did you run her away already? You weren't mean to her were you? You didn't go all awkward Brittany on her, did you? Do you think you'll go out again?" Mercedes only stopped when she saw Brittany smirking at her. "Too much?" Brittany's eyes answered her, "Sorry."

Brittany laughed it off knowing that Mercedes had always been one for gossip. She needed to know the who, what, where, when and why instantly about everything, and once Mercedes knew she assumed everyone else would want to know as well.

Brittany walked into the kitchen grabbing a glass of water and waited for the inevitable. She knew her roommate was not going to give up her questioning until she had her answers, in this case an answer in general.

"So," Mercedes mused. "How'd it go? Come on girl, spill. You know I have a need for the deats!"

Brittany took a long drink of water knowing Mercedes was biting at the bit to know anything. She didn't mind making the girl sweat it out a little bit. "Once I tell you," she began, "who's to stop you from telling Quinn who we all know will be telling Santana and personally I don't think that's fair. She gets to know how my date went but I don't get to know hers went." Mercedes' jaw hit the floor. Was Brittany actually going to withhold information from her?

Even though they had only been living together for a month, Brittany and Mercedes met during their junior year at NYU. Although they were only casual friends, the two valued each other's opinions and respected each other's space. When Brittany left New York to go on tour with her dance instructor, Mercedes opened up her apartment as a storage space. The second Brittany came back she had an apartment key attached to her key chain before she could truly set her feet on the ground. Mercedes had pre decided that Brittany would stay with her until she could wedge herself in the city again. In all honestly, Mercedes had missed Brittany more than she anticipated and it hurt that she wasn't being more forthcoming.

"Seriously, not even an 'I had a semi-decent-just-okay-I-might-want-to-do-that-again time'?"

"Goodnight, Mercedes." Brittany took what was left of her water and headed around the corner closing the door to her room and the conversation. Mercedes heard the sound of the door lock and was already halfway through a message to Kurt.

Before his phone could get the first note out, Kurt had the message from his busy-body friend opened and understood.

_We. Are. Diva. GENIUSES. _

"Yes, yes, yes! I knew it!" Kurt squealed dancing around flamboyantly. He knew little about Brittany; she'd only been in town for a few weeks and before that she'd only physically been in Mercedes' life for about a year and that was periodic at best. Nevertheless he thought she was an overall decent human being as well as extremely attractive and that was coming from his position on the other team. He hoped Santana, a Grade-A killer of all things shiny, wonderful, and happy, would not ruin his perfect plan.

* * *

><p>Quinn rolled over and grabbed her phone knowing who it was before she heard it beeping. <em>If Santana came home as distant as Brittany, I'd like to say congratulations to us!<em> She smiled slightly already well aware that Brittany had in fact had an exceptional date; Santana's inability to function gave that away. Normally she wouldn't intrude on the personal affairs of others, but Santana wasn't others.

_Well then congratulations to us._

* * *

><p>Monday came unwanted as usual and Santana found Quinn, already dressed, leaning on the counter sipping her coffee staring blankly at the newspaper.<p>

"How is it that you can be so prepared for Monday? It's un-American." Santana poured the remaining coffee into her mug and pressed it to her lips. Quinn had become accustomed to Santana's lack of respect for Monday's, or any day that required getting up before lunch.

"Aren't you just a delicate ray of Santana sunshine today," she replied uninterested taking another long sip of coffee and turning her attention back to the headlines. Santana smiled at their weekly ritual; there was nothing like a good back and forth to start the week. Reluctantly putting down her now empty mug, Santana retreated to her room to cement the fact that she was going to work.

"Why do we have to wear clothes? Wouldn't it just be easier to just walk around naked?" Santana asked in between taking her night shirt off and replacing it with her business blouse.

"Probably, but are you sure you want to see that guy from 25B without clothes?" Quinn yelled back hoping the image would scar her friend enough to end the conversation and possibly get them out of there on time.

Santana stopped immediately at the image and shook herself in attempt to erase it from her mind. "That's gross, Quinn. Way to ruin my week."

"You're making us late."

"You always say that."

"It's always true." Santana had no response since that was undeniable the truth.

* * *

><p>Arriving at the office, Santana and Quinn parted ways on the seventh floor. Quinn went left into an already in session advertisement meeting, and Santana veered slightly right toward the department of communications. She would be lying if she said this was her dream job, but she was working and it more than paid for the bills so Santana couldn't complain.<p>

Acknowledging her coworkers 'good mornings,' she made it to her office glad to be in the peace of her mental sanctuary. Within the confines of the 12 by 12 box, Santana felt in control. She controlled who entered and who left, how long the phone rang before she answered it out of annoyance and most importantly, she felt in control of herself.

Half way through lunch and clock out, there was a knock on her door. "Come in," she ordered without looking up from the paper work she was determined to finish before she left.

"Package for Miss. Lopez."

"Great, set it by the chair," she responded without looking up. She was in a zone and whatever it was could wait.

"Have a great day."

Santana waved her response and continued to fill out sheet after sheet in pointless repetition. Once she finished one stack she looked up to see a rectangular box sitting by her chair as instructed. Rolling her chair back and pushing herself up, she walked over without thinking much about it; she ordered countless items throughout the year for work and although she couldn't remember making an order recently, she brushed it off. When she opened it, confusion mounted quickly.

Inside was an empty vase and while stunningly simple and beautiful, Santana couldn't think of why she would have ordered one; it wasn't as if she got flowers on a semi-regular bases, or ever. Pulling out of the box, she noticed a sticky note attached to the side.

_You forgot to tell me what flowers make you smile. Don't worry, you can tell me at dinner tonight. 7 o'clock, Fairway and 53__rd__. __P.S. I couldn't wait for you to want to see me again._

Santana was going to murder Quinn in her sleep. Of all the people she had to go and set her up with, it had to be an unbelievable charming and faultless beauty. She had no way to decline to offer so she was morally forced into going.

The remainder of the day found Santana stealing glances at the empty vase like it was somehow going to grow her favorite flowers or disappear, which would be okay too. She noticed herself smiling while thinking about the gesture but quickly regained her composure and continued working.

* * *

><p>Quinn had noticed Santana's odd behavior when they left the office but she attributed it to it being a Monday and Santana being Santana. However, when they got home Santana went straight to her room and Quinn heard the shower running.<p>

"Washing the week off already, Santana?" While Quinn didn't make a habit of conversing with showering people, her curiosity was getting the better of her.

"No." Santana didn't feel like explaining the situation due to the reaction she knew Quinn would give.

"You feeling okay?"

"Yes."

"I can just keep going, or you can tell me what's going on." Santana hated how well Quinn knew her. She was the only person Santana couldn't lie to. Either way she was going to find out.

Turning the water off, Santana half whispered, "I have a get together meal eating thing tonight."

Quinn face shifted suddenly from worry to shock. "Did you just say you have a date?"

"No, I didn't say that," Santana shot back as she wrapped the towel around her and opened the door to a waiting Quinn. "I implied it. You said it."

Quinn folded her arms in front of her and watched as Santana scanned her closet left to right and back again. Although she knew exactly who it was with, it wasn't everyday one gets to see Santana Lopez nervous, although this was twice in one week. "And who has the honor of taking my best friend to dinner?"

"You know damn well who." Santana's voice was muffled as she was waist deep in her closet searching for the other half to her favorite pair of shoes.

"It's by the nightstand and I wouldn't want to imply anything."

Santana peaked her head out of the closet and looked over to her bed. Untangling herself from the mess of unfolded laundry on the closet floor, she walked over and put the newly reunited pair on her bed. Quinn stood in amazement as her hard-as-a-rock friend threw four outfits on the bed constantly rearranging them in an attempt to find the one that matched her shoes. While most people find the outfit first and shoes second, Santana had always been the opposite.

After about twenty rotations, Quinn decided to put the girl out of her misery. She walked over and picked up the lone pair of jeans and a green long sleeve v-neck, placing them in the middle. "Or you could just go naked."

Resisting the urge to strangle her friend, Santana took the outfit into the bathroom and began changing. Quinn smiled at the obvious discomfort she caused her. If Santana hadn't mentioned it that morning, Quinn wouldn't have mentioned it now. They were even.

"So, where is this hot date taking place?" Quinn asked, returning her attention to the more interesting matter at hand. She didn't have to see her to know that Santana was beet red.

"One, it's not a 'hot date'" Santana voiced from behind the door, "and secondly, it's none of your business."

"In other words you interested in her and therefore refuse to call it anything on the off chance you don't screw it up."

The door swung open revealing a perturbed woman with a half opened bottle of mascara in her hand. Quinn smiled at the sight in front of her. "You're welcome," she said admiring her handy work.

Santana shot her a glare but quickly returned to putting on her jewelry and make-up. If she was going to go out, she was going to look good. "Don't try too hard. She might think you actually want to be there." With that, Quinn left the room knowing her job as overly involved best friend was complete.

Santana immediately stopped. There was no way she was going to show up looking like she cared. Brittany may be beautiful and charming and spontaneous but Santana was not going to let show that she was by any means remotely interested in this get together meal eating thing.


	3. Explanations and Understanding

Author's Note: I went ten rounds with this chapter, but I think I came out on top by split decision. The setting is obviously not a place in New York. I uprooted it from my hometown and transplanted it. As for the end, sadly that happens to people, namely me. Speaking of the end, I'm going to ask that you not hunt me down. Have faith. Trust the madness.

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><p>A gentle breeze blew away the humidity and left the night perfectly cool and clear. Santana had lived in New York for three years and she had never been down Fairway further than 42nd; all the good bars stopped there so she stopped with them. In any case, the area was pretty. Small shops and diners surrounded a grassy park and people were sprayed randomly around reading on benches, or walking, or lying on blankets waiting for the stars.<p>

One thing she did not see was Brittany. Her watch read 6:51p.m. Why was she so early? Being late again wasn't an option, but being early hurt her ego. That being said, she couldn't place what made her more uncomfortable, being early or Brittany's absence. For the sake of her massive pride complex she went with the former.

* * *

><p>Brittany rounded the corner onto 53rd and broke out in a smile. Santana was early. More importantly, Santana had shown up. Brittany was concerned about being stood up when she devised the empty vase idea Saturday morning. In all honesty, she thought it wouldn't work, but apparently she had made quite an impression.<p>

Walking over to the bench Santana had found to wait on, Brittany placed a hand on her date's shoulder. Santana nearly fell over at the touch. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Hi." Santana immediately regretted having no anti-lame filter between her head and mouth. '_Hi', _she thought, _she says 'Sorry' and you say 'Hi.' Good going Lopez, way to sound like an awkward fifteen year old._ It wasn't helping that she was smiling like an idiot.

Her internal struggle did not go unnoticed. Brittany's smile broadened and a she held out her hand to help Santana stand. "Glad to see you aren't only adorable on Fridays."

Santana's heart pounded erratically. Where did this woman come from? She was breathtakingly gorgeous, unbelievably sweet and, apparently, quite the gentlewoman. Santana realized she was staring again and took the offered hand.

Regaining as much control of herself as she could while taking in how soft Brittany's hand was, Santana was determined to have more control tonight; no repeats of Friday. Once she was fully upright, she released Brittany's hand to fidget with her shirt and jeans. "So, do I get to know where are we going tonight or is hiding information from me going to be a perpetual event?"

Brittany took her newly freed hand and placed it in the pocket of her denim jacket. "Well, that depends. What are you hungry for?"

"Food," Santana said trying to settle into her everyday stand-offish self.

"Well as long as you're not a cannibal or vampire or something, the question still remains." Brittany hadn't missed a beat. Santana wasn't in the mood to play games, especially one she was already losing. "You asked me out. You get to tell me where we're going."

_Wait. Did I just hand over decision making abilities? Shit, Lopez pull yourself together!_

Brittany smiled with the knowledge that Santana had just receded. Taking her hand out of her pocket, she placed it on the small of Santana's back and with her other hand ushered toward a brightly lit hole in the wall across the street. Santana studied the place intensely attempting to not react to the hand placed just high enough on her back to be respectful. "Looks fine, let's go," Santana finally acknowledged. As she quickly moved away, Brittany was flattered that she had such an effect on the simply stunning woman.

* * *

><p>"Table for two?" Brittany nodded and led the way following the hostess. Santana took this opportunity to appreciate her surroundings. She had never seen a place so cluttered. Every inch of the wall was filled with paintings, street signs, rusted bike tires, musical instruments, and oddly enough a quarter of a boat. It looked like the French Quarter decided to fight Time Square and both gave up mid-battle due to lack of interst. As cluttered as it was, she found the place to be rather intimate; everyone kept to their table and the soft hum of conversation relaxed her.<p>

As they reached their table, the hostess pulled Santana's chair out and she gracious thanked her. "Your waiter will be right with you," the hostess explained as she placed a menu in front of each woman and walked away with a courteous smile. Brittany thanked her but kept her eyes on Santana.

"This place is unique," Santana offered, deadpanning the last word.

"Well you said you didn't do fancy dressed up places with reservations," Brittany began. "So I told you to meet me around here. It's a family district so it's a bunch of little cafés and family owned stores. I figured that's about as non-fancy as you can get." Brittany attempted to act nonchalant while she stole glances trying to see if Santana approved.

Santana was impressed by the thought Brittany had put into this. She had done everything right, which reminded her. "Speaking of telling me where to meet you; the vase, the sticky note?"

Brittany looked at Santana for a moment a little shocked that she brought up the invitation.

"You could have gotten my number from Quinn. I'm sure she'd have been more than happy to give it to you." Santana sounded a little guarded, but she was still trying to find a fault in this woman.

Eyeing her menu again, Brittany swallowed hard. "If I had called, you could have said no."

* * *

><p>Quinn was sitting at the kitchen table sorting through the mail and making out checks for the mountain of bills that rested heavily in front of her. She and Santana never had trouble paying for everything, it was just tedious to write out the checks and mail them. As she was putting checks into their respective envelopes, her phone filled the silence with a song she knew too well.<p>

"Hey girl, what can I do for you?"

"You can start by telling me about dinner tonight." Putting the half filled envelope on the table, Quinn leaned back in her chair and got comfortable for the conversation that awaited her.

"I…" Mercedes interrupted Quinn's attempted response, "Hang on, Kurt's calling."

Quinn crossed her arm over her stomach and listened to the silence. "Okay, I'm back."

"Hi, Kurt." Quinn had known Mercedes too long to believe a conversation with anyone ended that quickly.

"Blondie, spill." When Kurt wanted information, his normally mild tempered nature disappeared.

"I already ate but thanks for the offer."

"Quinn!" The mixture of voices coming from her speaker made Quinn grin in victory. Of course she knew full well what dinner they were talking about but she probably didn't know much more than they did. In her mind, she had done her part; she got Santana to the restaurant. After that it was up to her friend to figure it out.

"Look you two; the quickest way for Santana to bail on something is for everyone she knows to stick their nose in it. Brittany's already got her twisted every which way but up and the last thing she needs is the co-founders of busy-bodies anonymous trying to get involved. Unless we are specifically asked to help, not just assume it's our job, let's let them date each other, not us. I'm now going to get back to the ever exciting task of paying bills, and you two are going to drop this."

"Wait, Quinn…"

"Goodnight. Love you both." Quinn cut Kurt off and placed her phone back on the table to resume her daunting task.

"Why does she always do that?"

Mercedes heard Kurt shrug through the line. "She's Quinn. Girl doesn't need a reason."

"Eh, whatever. Coffee's on you tomorrow."

Kurt squealed his disapproval, "Why me?"

"Cause you love me," Mercedes offered. "And I paid all last week, and today. You're on makeup duty. See you bright and early, kisses!"

"Hold on…" Kurt tried to extend the conversation but Mercedes' line went dead.

"Why does _she_ always do that?"

* * *

><p>Santana's hands were buried deep in her pockets to avoid the uncomfortable swinging hand touch. Knowing her, she'd probably become apple red and start spitting out unnecessary apologies or asking if she'd hurt her or something equally ridiculous. She was normally an in control person but Brittany had stripped her of that façade and made her feel vulnerable, yet absolutely wonderful.<p>

They had been walking in a comfortable silence for a few blocks and Santana noticed that Brittany's hands had found their way into her own jacket pockets matching Santana's wrapped up appearance. She also noticed the rather large distance between them; it was at least two feet, which for Santana on a date might as well have been the other side of the street.

Brittany saw Santana watching her from the corner of her eye, no doubt questioning why they were taking up the entirety of the sidewalk. It wasn't that Brittany didn't want to be near her date, on the contrary she would normally be holding her hand or at least have her under her arm by now, but she sensed hesitation on Santana's part. The last thing Brittany wanted to do was be too foreword physically.

Moments later, Santana began to feel the comfortable blanket of silence start to unravel as a few blocks turned into a few more. She knew the discussion ball was securely fastened to her hands since Brittany had done the majority of the work so far. "So, how do you know Quinn?"

Brittany smiled at Santana's attempt at conversation. While the topic was less than original, at this point the fact that she was trying was worth it for Brittany. "I didn't until I moved back a month ago. Mercedes…"

"Mercedes?" Hearing that name was not on Santana's expectation list. She hadn't spoken to Mercedes in over half a year. Apparently Quinn was secretly rekindling friendships. "As in Mercedes Jones, Miss. In the middle of everything diva extraordinaire, Mercedes?"

"Is there another kind?" Brittany smiled at the thought of her roommate driving herself insane as she was sure to notice by now why Brittany was not at home.

"Wonderful. She's in this too? I don't suppose Kurt managed to stay out of it." Brittany shook her head trying not to laugh at the growing frustration on Santana's face.

"Anyway," Brittany continued hoping to explain before Santana lost it. "Mercedes is letting me live with her until I can figure out where I want to be permanently. While all the touring and traveling I've been doing is enjoyable, I've always liked being here. So when my old dance studio called to offer me a job teaching, I accepted before they finished asking. It wasn't too long after I got back, maybe a week, before I met Quinn. One thing led quickly to another and sure enough all I was hearing about was Quinn's 'incredible' roommate. It was 'Santana did this' and 'Santana said that' for almost a week straight."

Santana wasn't surprised at all to hear how quickly things had progressed. She actually thought this was a little slow for Mercedes; maybe she was losing her touch. Santana grinned at the thought but returned her attention to Brittany who, along with Santana, had stopped walking.

"Quinn skirted around asking if I wanted to meet you for a few days. I could tell she thought it would be a good idea, so I asked if she could introduce us. I didn't expect a full on date, but I'm not complaining."

Santana was at a loss for words. How was it that Brittany could turn any conversation into a compliment?

"Honestly, I thought they would tell you what was going on. When you showed up on Friday, it took me a few minutes to realize why you were so nervous. I wanted to believe it was because I was just so utterly irresistible," Brittany teased with a playful shrug. Santana belted out a laugh and Brittany's stomach flipped at the sound as she carried on, "But then you just seemed rattled, so I put Mercedes and Quinn together, sprinkled in a little Kurt around the edges and got set-up."

By now the pair had started to walk again. Santana was absorbing all of the new information, and suddenly everything made sense. Mercedes and Kurt were Nobel Prize winners in meddling. If it should be left alone, for instance Santana's love life, rather her life in general, they had their hand permanently engraved in it. Nothing had changed since high school, except now they were better at hiding it. Then Brittany's words hit her.

"I'm sorry; did you just say you 'sprinkled Kurt'?" Santana back tracked a little as she couldn't help but laugh at the slow motion reel playing over and over in her head. Brittany shot a bright smile, thankful that Santana chose to focus on her odd word choice instead of the dead end conversation they were in.

"Um, yeah," she admitted almost shyly. "He's just so colorful and ridiculously happy all the time, like sprinkles." Santana looked over slightly confused but humered by the comparison. "Sprinkles?"

"Yeah," Brittany answered content to leave the conversation where it was. Santana's face begged her to explain. "Like the ones that everyone debates about getting while in line, but only a few people are brave enough to get. Those without are missing out and those with the courage to walk around with sprinkles on their ice cream, no matter what age, are just a little happier in life."

Santana was stunned.

"I know it's a weird way to think of a person, but sometimes my brain just goes there." Brittany explained, seemingly unaffected by the oddity of her comparison. Santana could tell that Brittany was extremely sure of who she was, even if that person dealt in left-field connections. Something about that self-awareness and acceptance was intimidating, yet extremely sexy.

The New York night serenaded the pair as they walked the remaining few blocks in silence. Santana could feel the fabric of Brittany's jacket brush lightly against her sleeve, and the nearness made Santana feel like a fumbling mess. In her attempt to move comfortably away from Brittany before she made a complete fool of herself, Santana ran shoulder first into a light pole.

* * *

><p>Author's P.S: I know this one was slow, but as you'll see when I upload the next few chapters, it's important. I had to define a few things: Brittany's side of the relationship and her personality, and Quinn's understanding of what Santana wants and needs her to do. Again I ask that you have faith in my story and ride this out with me. Chapter four is a coming soon and it's my favorite so far.<p> 


	4. Love Connection

Author's Note: To all of my returning readers, welcome back! To all of the people stumbling upon this for the first time, welcome to the insanity that is my brain. Brave souls. I had entirely too much fun writing this chapter, I had to talk most of it out and my roommate thinks I'm insane. The things I do for you guys. In regards to what Brittany does, please know I didn't make that up. It actually happened to a friend of mine (romance hasn't died completely). I simply tweaked it to fit my needs. Again, you guys rock my world.

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><p>"Let me get this straight," Quinn put down the spatula and scrunched her face attempting to understand the madness that was Santana's logic. "You're mad because you two had a good night, she then walked you home, well out of her way might I add…"<p>

"The distance is irrelevant. Your sauce is burning." Santana added as she grabbed two plates from the dishwasher.

"Then when you hit a pole…"

"I didn't hit the pole, it moved in my way."

"She managed to suppress her laughter long enough to help your worthless hide up," Quinn continued as she turned back to the stove and switched off the heat effectively ignoring Santana's attempt to save face. "How she managed that is still a mystery to me. She then politely kisses your cheek, since, at this point you were probably being an ass, and then waited for you to get safely inside the door?" Quinn put the spatula down and reached for the salad bowl. "Am I confused or just missing some vital part of her evil plan?" Quinn picked up the pan and took it and the salad bowl to the middle of the table.

"Putting positive adjectives in front of her actions does not make them any better," Santana said as she rummaged through the silverware drawer. "And I'm not mad. Do you want a spoon?"

"No," Quinn answered after referencing the table. "What emotion would you call it then?" She mused placing her napkin in her lap.

"I would call it," Santana started as she waved the utensils around like magic word wands. "Unsure of future intentions," she finished placing the fork and knife lazily next to Quinn's plate. "And this happened two days ago, why are we still talking about it."

"Because I'm still confused, and you brought it up. By the way that's not a feeling. Pass the bread please." Santana reached for the plate and handed it to her friend.

"Unsure is a feeling. For example, I am unsure why you didn't tell me you found Mercedes and Kurt" Santana declared as she sat down and began filling her plate.

"Unsure is, yes. Napkin please," Santana reluctantly placed the napkin in her lap with an exaggerated eye roll for good measure. "I didn't tell you because I don't have to tell you every micro-bead of my existence. And 'Unsure of future intentions' isn't an emotion. It's Santana for 'scared shitless'."

* * *

><p>"I'm confused. She did or did not have an 'I'm going to hunt down Mercedes' face?" The diva questioned while she fanned out a shirt placing it in her hang up pile.<p>

"I don't know her faces like you guys do. I can just say that she was quiet for a while then she…" Brittany stopped as she stared curiously at a black button up shirt from her basket. "Why is Kurt's shirt in our laundry?"

Mercedes fanned a pair of slacks and casually gestured to a white basket near the door. "Just throw it over there."

"She got that goofy nervous face again," Brittany smiled as she threw the black shirt in the basket along with the next five. "Should Kurt just move in? His laundry lives here as it is."

"Oh no, girl. I love that boy but he ain't stayin' here," Mercedes answered as she threw Brittany a pair of her pajama shorts. "I have never seen Santana goofy anything so excuse me if I'm still worried about my safety. Back in the day that girl could make a grown man cry by looking at him." Brittany grinned at the thought of Santana sending men's pride to their watery grave.

"Maybe that's true," Brittany offered as she placed her piles in the basket in front of her. "But I just can't see it. I think these are yours." Brittany threw a pair of shiny socks towards Mercedes.

Catching them moments before they hit her face, Mercedes looked down and laughed, "These have Kurt written all over them." Kurt's laundry pile began to rival those who paid to live there. "I'll never forget my first Death Glare; freshman year geometry." Mercedes shuttered as the memory consumed her. "You're allowed to laugh it off, she won't give you one. She likes you too much. But the rest of the world has to watch their back, Santana can get ugly fast."

Brittany had a stupid happy smile plastered to her face. "Is my safety humorous to you?"

Brittany simply shook her head. Mercedes gave her a once over trying to figure out what she could have said to deserve this glowing girl in front of her. When it clicked, she picked up a folded shirt and threw it at Brittany's head. "Sap!"

Brittany continued to beam brightly knowing she couldn't deny it.

* * *

><p>"I'm not saying you have to go and marry the woman," Quinn emphasized. "I am simply saying that maybe you should give her a chance, you know allow her to, watch out," Quinn reached around Santana to grab the last few dirty dishes. "Allow her to see the less awkward, non awe-struck side of you."<p>

"I've gone on two dates with her, Quinn. Move this leg," Santana instructed as she touched Quinn's right shin and opened the cabinet to grab a lid for left-overs. "And I've pretty much made an idiot of myself in both so I'd say I'm doing a damn good job of giving her a chance. Furthermore, why is it that every time I go to dinner, everyone suddenly jumps to me in a fluffy white dress, walking down the aisle to awful organ music…"

"Hand me that rag please," Quinn interrupted.

"…in front of people I probably don't even like, toward a person who, now, the three ring leaders of the love circus found for me?"

"Well someone's given this a lot of thought," teased Quinn as she dried her hands. Santana's 'screw you' glare caused her to rethink her approach. "Listen, sweetie, I've known you for what, 25 years? I've seen every god-awful relationship you've found for yourself and my best friend deserves better. So yes, I went looking for you, but you can't stand there and tell me I didn't do a kick-ass job."

Quinn didn't see why that was the problem. "That's exactly my point, Quinn!" Santana turned to walk out of the kitchen. Quinn's face turned quizzical. Sometimes even she didn't understand Santana.

"So we're agreeing that's she perfect for you."

"Yes, wait no. Stop confusing me," Santana voiced exasperatedly.

"And I'm okay with this but you're finding it to be an issue?" Quinn pressed on following Santana through the living room.

Santana found the door knob to her room and turned it revealing a dirty floor. "Isn't that what I just said?" The door closed before Quinn had time to reply.

Tensing her hands trying to not yell through the door, Quinn found her politely pissed off voice. "You're going to die an old maid after years of working in some dusty library, Lopez. Just keep this up."

"Closed door means end of discussion," Santana was clear even through the bedroom and bathroom doors.

Quinn let her arms fall in defeat. Santana was a master at being stubborn and Quinn knew to pick her battles. Finding her way to her room, she fell down on her bed was fast asleep in minutes. Being Santana's best friend had its perks but it was hell to pay.

* * *

><p>Santana somehow made it to Friday without inflicting further injury to her already wounded ego. Walking into her office, she saw a stack of papers that weren't there yesterday. "Perfect," she scowled as she put her purse down and slouched in the comfort of her chair.<p>

About a tenth of the way through the increasing pile, Santana's phone rang startling her. "Santana Lopez," she answered after catching her breath. She listened as the voice on the other end asked for assistance, "of course," informed her of the situation, "uh huh," and finally dumped the entire project on her, "yes sir."

Slumping back into her chair, Santana rubbed her temple out of frustration and fatigue. It was almost lunch and she wasn't anywhere close to the end of her to-do list. Sighing heavily, she sat back up and continued plowing through pointless phone calls and wordy emails that all eventually dwindled down to 'I'm too clueless to figure it out, so I was hoping you'd do it for me'. How these people managed a career in communications when it was the skill they lacked the most was a riddle Santana had yet to solve. She had just finished typing another 'you're an adult, figure it out yourself' email when her door swung open.

Quinn had never been one for knocking. According to her, doors were more of a suggestion than a statement when it came to Santana, unless she was mad then they were the constitution.

"Before you whip out some half-ass comment about my door usage, you should know I come bearing gifts." Quinn shut the door behind her and Santana saw she was indeed caring a green bag. "No, this is not my apology for affectionately caring about your future happiness and being woman enough to do something about it."

"Get out of my head." Santana eyed Quinn concerned for her safety. "It's creepy."

Quinn smiled proudly. "I'm kind of busy here," Santana continued wearily. "Can I open this non-apologetic mystery present later?"

"You aren't the least bit curious who it's from?" Quinn teased.

"Fine," Santana submitted; she didn't have time for this. Quinn wasn't going away even if she needed to get back to work as well. "Who's it from?"

"Brittany," Quinn stated matter-of-factly.

"Are you two best friends now or something? Why couldn't she come up here?"

"No we're not and Mercedes said something about Brittany having to get to the studio early today and being stuck there. I don't know. I didn't ask for all the details."

"What is this; the love connection?" Santana spat a little irritated that she was consistently the last one to know about her own relationship. Snatching the bag from her friend, she would have to remember to mention this annoyance to Brittany.

"Hey, I am just the messenger. I want me out as much as you do" Quinn moved further into the room obviously planning on staying a while. "Doubtful," Santana whispered placing the bag on her desk. "Anything else?"

Quinn's face dropped. "I don't get to see what's in it?"

"Didn't you just say you wanted out? That door is your invitation. I have work to do." Santana would consider telling her later, but she wanted to open it without having to worry about anyone finding out how it made her heart soar.

Quinn tried to say something but was interrupted as Santana opened the door and all but pushed her through it. "I'll see you at home, but right now, get out."

Turning around and moving toward her desk, Santana was glowing. Although she wasn't ready to admit it, Brittany had a hold on her. In two dates, Brittany had managed to fluster her, make her act like an incompetent fool, and yet Santana had never been treated so well. Quinn had been right about the nature of Santana's previous relationships. Normally she found her lovers at a bar or a club. Maybe that was the difference; Brittany wasn't trying to be her lover.

As she took the tissue paper out of the bag, and sighed. _Of course it couldn't be a normal gift_. Emptying the contents into her hand, she read the instructions 'Push Me' accompanied by an arrow pointing to a play button.

"I have really got to remember to ask for your number." Santana grinned so wide her checks hurt. "I don't know how many more date invitations I can come up with." Laughter filled the small office as she sat down and continued to listen. "Second, I hope your shoulder is feeling better since you sorta banned me from asking on Monday. I completely understand why, but I was thinking about it and was hoping it didn't bruise or anything. Anyway, if you don't have plans tonight, I'd love to change that. I'll even pick you up. To make it fair, I wrote my number on the bottom of the bag. Let me know if you're interested. If you don't I might have to send another present, and keep in mind I have no problem pulling out all the stops."

There was a click and Brittany's voice was gone. Santana was frozen in joy. Brittany was indescribable and for some reason Santana had yet to place, she was interested in her. Sure enough when Santana flipped the bag over there were nine neatly written numbers. Typing them into her phone she was about to hit the dial button when she remembered what Quinn said about Brittany being stuck at the studio. Although Santana wanted to hear her voice again, she settled for a text message.

_I'll see you at 7 _

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><p>Author's P.S: For those of you saying, "Brittany has all this time to find ridiculous ways to ask her out, but she can't do it in person," I feel your pain. It is address in subsequent chapters and I can promise you that this is the last overtly outrageous date invitation. The plan was always to do two; one where Santana felt forced to go, and one which gave her the option. Brittany is feeling this out the same way Santana is.<p> 


	5. Timing

Author's Note: 1) Don't knock it till you try it. 2) I must like ya'll an awful lot because it took me forever to write this chapter. Speaking of, huge thanks to my new Beta, your work/time/opinion is apprecaited. 3) Ya'll are ridiculously humbling, I hope you know that.

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><p>Brittany reread the message for the 27th time verifying that she was running late. Plowing through the front door, she went quickly to her room. She'd been at the studio since 6:30 that morning along with the other instructors who were all giving opinions on their student's auditions for various elite programs and tours. Normally it wouldn't have taken this long, but one of her kids decided to park on Stage-Fright Lane for an hour. He was a good kid and a phenomenal dancer, but that was going to be a problem.<p>

Throwing her bag on the floor, Brittany glanced at the clock. 6:22. _Crap._

* * *

><p>Shirts flew across the room forming a second carpet on the floor. "I can't find it! Where did you put it?"<p>

"Just because you lost it, doesn't mean I took it. I'm sure it's in there somewhere." Quinn sat crossed legged on the couch flipping through a mindless magazine. "By the way," she said putting a spoonful of clam chowder in her mouth. "What are you looking for?"

"That gray sweater jacket thing," Santana started as she walked into the living room to make sure her roommate was listening. "The one with the glitter pattern down the side and the abnormally small pockets."

Quinn thought for a moment, creating a mental picture. Swallowing her latest spoonful, she looked back at Santana, "You mean _my_ gray sweater that you borrowed two months ago and conveniently forgot to give back?"

"Yeah," Santana shot back accepting the charges Quinn put to her and not giving them much mind.

"It's in my closet."

"Great." Santana moved quickly down the hallway to Quinn's room.

"No, I don't mind you borrowing it. Thanks for asking," she whispered to herself. It was not surprising Santana assumed Quinn's closet was her's, although it didn't work the other way around.

"Hey, what time is it?" Santana flashed the question quickly as she jolting back to her room.

"6:27." Movement caused Quinn glance back at her watch. "Sorry, scratch that, 6:28."

* * *

><p>Brittany jumped out of the shower and into her clothes. Rustling her hair with her towel, she debated whether she had time to dry it. It had been getting fairly chilly lately and the last thing she needed was a cold when it was otherwise avoidable. The clock read 6:32; she had enough time if she hurried.<p>

* * *

><p>"Oh, when you're not busy, I need to ask you about Sunday." Quinn spoke as though Santana wasn't running late.<p>

"And somehow now seemed like an appropriate time?"

"No. That's why I said when you're not busy. Let me know and I'll ask again."

"Okay, yeah, I'll remember that." Santana's comment was dripping with sarcasm. Sometimes her best friend had the worst timing. "Time?"

"6:54. You can calm down you know. You'll be fine."

* * *

><p>Brittany turned onto Santana's street but was still about three blocks away. Glancing at her watch she decided she could stop running and compose herself. As she walked, she looked down trying to see if she had forgotten anything or if something was out of place. For once she was thankful she hadn't chosen a complicated outfit.<p>

Brittany's clock showed 6:59 as she walked up to Santana's door; she had cut it entirely too close. She raised her hand to knock but the voices inside caught her ear.

"Are those my pants?"

"Probably, they were in your closet."

"Santana!"

"What? Your clothes are better than mine. Take it as a compliment to your fashion sense." Brittany chuckled at the logic and decided to end Quinn's misery.

Quinn heard the knock first. Seven o'clock on the dot. However, she didn't have time to move toward the door before Santana grabbed her purse and was halfway there.

The door swung open and Santana was instructing Quinn to have a good night and stay away from her side of the freezer; apparently the two had issues sharing food. Brittany didn't retain much of the conversation because Santana looked amazing.

"So what are we doing tonight? Tumbling down some stairs? Falling into puddles?" Santana put her keys in her purse as she spoke.

"If you want to tumble and fall, I can definitely arrange it." Santana's throat lumped; she was tumbling but it wasn't down stairs. "But I had another idea although I'm not sure how well you'll take to it."

* * *

><p>"You have got to be joking." Santana's face was coated in shock. "I didn't think you were serious."<p>

Taking her card back from the vender, Brittany wrapped her purchase in her arms and smiled. "This is why I wasn't sure how you'd take it. But honestly, how have you never thought of this?"

'How have I never…what would possibly prompt me to think of this?" Brittany walked past Santana, arms full of water bottles, toward a grassy area a few blocks from Santana's apartment. "What made _you_ think of this?" Santana added watching Brittany set the bottles in a triangle next to a cookout pit and table.

"Come on, loosen up. It's fun. I promise. Sure it's a bit off your Average Joe weekend night, but life's an adventure."

"A bit off? Brittany, we're bowling with water bottles in the middle of a park. That's insane."

"Insane in this case means extremely fun and, since it's obviously something you've never done, a necessity for your personal development." Brittany finished straightening the bottles as Santana watched in amazement wondering why she was actually considering this.

Taking the remaining bottles over to where her stunned date stood, Brittany gave one to Santana. "Okay so here's how it works. I roll and then you roll and we try to knock over as many bottles as possible. Whoever knocks over the fewest in each round has to drink out of their bottle; whoever is the last to have water wins."

Santana stood there looking at all the people who were staring their direction probably wondering the same thing she was. _What is this woman doing to me?_

Brittany saw the struggle in Santana's eyes and beamed proudly. "Okay, off the table, five bottles."

Santana did a double take as Brittany leveled herself with the tabletop. "Off the table? What are you a professional bottle roller?"

Brittany chuckled. "No. I'm competitive," she said as she rolled the bottle off the edge of the table and knocked down five bottles. "And I don't lose." Smiling proudly at the scowl on Santana's face, Brittany went to reset the triangle. Santana took note of the over-confidence but she felt utterly ridiculous rolling a water bottle around on the ground.

"Alright, your turn." Brittany walked over to Santana with an assured grin. Santana had a confused expression that shifted from the water bottle in her hand to the triangle on the ground to Brittany back to the bottles. "You can't knock them over by staring at them. They aren't intimidated."

Santana's face was not amused, but she chuckled inside. Brittany's sense of humor, although it involved personifying water bottles and equating people to food, was unique and refreshing. When it was clear that Brittany had no intention of letting her pass on this opportunity, Santana decided that if she was going to do this she was going to do it in style. Brittany had already seen her run into light poles, stumble over herself both physically and verbally, and she was still here; Santana had nothing to lose, except, according to Brittany, bottle bowling.

"Hold this, please." Santana handed her bottle to Brittany and started to climb onto the table. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I thought we were trying to avoid physical injury tonight." Brittany wasn't sure what Santana was doing, but she had determination in her eyes and Brittany couldn't deny the look suited her.

"Just make sure you stand over there," Santana point to an ambiguous place a few feet away, "and I think I'll be okay. Can I have that back?" Brittany wasn't sure if she should be offended or honored. Handing Santana back the bottle, she walked over toward the pit so she could see the triangle of bottles on the ground. "Alright, I'm far away now."

"Okay. Over the shoulder, backwards. Six." Santana finished and turned her head away from Brittany.

"That's ambitious for a first timer," Brittany teased hoping to rattle the woman a little. "No trash talking," Santana snapped back before she tossed the bottle over her shoulder.

Brittany's jaw hit the ground.

"How'd I do?" Santana hadn't turned around partly because she was scared she missed entirely, but also because she didn't want to trip over herself in the process. "Either come help me down or tell me how I did."

"You hit them all." Brittany forced out in astonishment.

Santana smiled in victory. "Round one, Lopez."

Brittany regained herself and walked over to the edge of the table. "That wasn't bowling; it shouldn't count."

Grabbing Brittany's hand, Santana defended her turn as she placed both feet safety on the ground. "You didn't bowl either; you rolled it off the table. If mine doesn't count neither does yours."

Brittany was engulfed with joy. In front of her was the Santana Quinn had intrigued her with almost three weeks ago; witty, creative, shameless. She was beautiful when she fumbled around herself and tried to act indifferent, but when Santana let her guard down she was absolutely gorgeous.

"Fair enough. Round one is yours," Brittany relented taking a sip of water. "But remember, I don't lose." Santana rolled her eyes.

"Between my legs, over the pit. Six." Brittany had never tried this combination, but she was feeling bold.

Santana watched as Brittany released the bottle and was as surprised as Brittany when it cleared the top of the cookout station. When it landed, Santana erupted in laughter. Brittany stood up and turned around following the sound that made her stomach flip sporadically. Looking down, her face fell into an unknown confusion.

"Two?" Brittany said in defeat. "I've never only hit two." Santana easily won that round, much to Brittany's dismay, with what she called the 'original roll.'

"Now that is bowling. Drink up." Santana was proud of herself for keeping her composure more so than winning. She was trying to showing who she was; at least the non-insulting, less-bitchy, mildly-normal side of her. It was a start.

The remaining rounds consisted of both women trying to come up with the most innovative ways to beat each other. Brittany used as many props as she could; the table, the pit, a near-by tree, and a bicycle she sweet talked a guy into letting her borrow, anything to prove that whether Santana a won a few rounds or not, she was vastly better at bottle bowling. Most of Santana's rolls called for her to close her eyes or turn around. Brittany thought she was just trying to add difficulty but Santana had done well so far to not be a fumbling mess and Brittany was a glowing distraction.

After finishing off her fifth bottle, and first ever loss which Santana was currently celebrating by swishing her bottle around loudly, Brittany noticed that night had fallen on them and with it the brisk winds of a New York night. Checking her watch she found that they had spent over two hours in a now nearly deserted park. Having not planned this night out, she hadn't accounted for the need of a heavier jacket; neither had her date.

"When you're done gloating let me know. I'm pretty sure Quinn would be less than excited if I brought you home with a cold."

Santana stopped dancing only to smirk at the thought of Quinn waiting on her hand and foot until she decided to feel better. "Actually, can we stay a little longer? She owes me."

Watching the wheels turn in Santana's head, Brittany was a little nervous ask what she was thinking. There was still a lot about Santana she didn't know, but thankfully in all of Quinn and Mercedes' Santana-praise sessions, they had mentioned how to get her to do just about anything.

"We can stop for food on the way."

* * *

><p>Santana looked at Brittany's plate and was horrified at the sight. "You have single handedly just sent hot dogs everywhere into a depression."<p>

"What's wrong with it?" After insisting on paying, Brittany was collecting her change and looking confusedly at Santana.

"It's naked! Put some condimental clothes on that thing."

Brittany looked at her meal and then Santana's which was on a war path with her mouth. "At least mine's not a whore dog." Santana was in the middle of chewing, but the evenness of Brittany's comment made her swallow early. "Excuse me?"

"You've got everything but the kitchen sink on it. Mine might be 'naked' but at least it's faithful."

"It's food. It's not possible for it to be faithful."

"Obviously not yours." Brittany began devouring hers since she hadn't eaten since the twenty minute lunch break she'd taken at noon.

Santana stopped mid-mouthful and just stared. Brittany's honesty whether it be what she thought or felt or saw, made her knees go weak. It was that honesty that made Santana nervous, made her feel uncomfortable, but not scared. Brittany didn't scare her in the least but she did make her behave differently, un-Santana like. She wondered if that was a permanent fixture or if, in time, she would fall back into the comfort of her solitude.

"So, I have to know," Santana started realizing she had been staring. "Bottle Bowling?" Brittany looked up from her plate. She wasn't sure what Santana was asking; where did it come from or why did she chose it as a date.

"Um, well, I made it up for my sister. When we were younger, my parents left me in charge over the summer when they both had to work. I couldn't drive yet so we were stuck in the house. She kept asking me to take her somewhere, anywhere, but I had instructions not the leave.

I remembered she liked the bowling alley, we'd only been once but she talked non-stop about it for weeks. So, I set up a lane in our kitchen. At first we used my mom's spices, but I sort of broke a bottle. My mom came home and noticed it was gone. She didn't buy the story that it was playing hide and seek with her, so I told her what happened. She went out that night and got us bottles we couldn't break and told us to play only outside. It escaladed from there.

It reminds me of being a kid, so I figured you'd enjoy just letting loose a little bit. Let go of the reality that you're an adult for a minute. I don't know, it's a little silly but you're not half bad."

As if Santana wasn't already overwhelmed by all that was Brittany, here she was confirming the longevity of this incredible side of her. The fact that she shared part of herself with Santana was certainly helping her cause. "So the whole random, sweet gesture thing isn't new?"

Brittany wiped her mouth with her napkin and grinned. "No, I guess not. I just like to see people smile, see them happy. If I have to look a little, I don't know, out there in the process I'm okay with that."

* * *

><p>Brittany finished her plate waiting patiently while Santana ate hers spooning up the mountain of toppings that had fallen in the process. As tired as Brittany was, she did not regret making these plans. Santana was still a mystery to her; one she was in no hurry to solve. She seemed so fragile to Brittany, like a cargo box marked 'handle with care' but everyone seemed to throw around ignoring the warning.<p>

Santana was well aware of the mess she was making, but when it came to food, even she had to admit she was shameless. She was also biding time; Brittany was turning her every direction at once. She was charming, then funny, then innocent, then reminiscent, back to charming. It was a roller coaster ride Santana, so far, didn't mind riding out.

Brittany took Santana's pristinely clean plate, along with hers to the trash can. It was nearly a half past ten when the two walked out meeting the wind head on. Brittany slid her hands into her pocket as they started toward Santana's apartment.

As they walked, Santana noticed their nearness and the shocking amount of coordination she had retained. Santana wanted to take the credit for her continuing upright position, but ironically all credit went to Brittany. She didn't hide behind a façade of social acceptance; she didn't try to hide who she was and that self-recognition forced Santana to relax. She pulled her hand out of her pocket, which wasn't helping anyway, and placed it in the crook of Brittany's elbow testing her ability to walk and touch Brittany at the same time.

_So far, so good. _

Brittany tried to suppress her smile. She had gathered, mainly because Quinn and Mercedes weren't delicate Santana discussers, that Santana wasn't exactly a slow mover in her other relationships. Brittany took her hesitancy as a huge step forward.

Another block passed them before Brittany blurted out, "I wanted to apologize for earlier."

Santana's confusion was immeasurable. The last person who should be apologizing for anything was Brittany. Santana was bewildered to the point she couldn't formulate words.

"I can tell you don't like it when other people interfere with your personal life, and I can imagine the chain of people I went through today to get to you must have been frustrating. I just didn't feel as though I had another viable option." Brittany hadn't minded going through the U.S. Postal service to ask for her second date, but somehow even she felt invaded by asking Mercedes and Quinn to help; she could only imagine how Santana felt.

Listening in shocking amazement, Santana felt a twinge in her stomach. Normally in moments like these, she would be knee deep in awkwardness, but, again, Brittany's honesty, and refusal to be anything else, made Santana feel atypical. Brittany had known she would upset her taking a roundabout way, but did it none the less. It was admirable and Santana would be lying if she didn't find it to be blazingly attractive.

Seeing the beginning of Santana's neighborhood, Brittany offered to retract the stillness. "I don't know much about your schedule, but if you're available for lunch next week I'd be happy to meet you somewhere. Maybe if we shy away from getting together at night, I won't have to watch you run into things or worry about you falling off tables."

Santana smiled. "I think I'm capable of injuring myself despite the time of day." Santana knew it wasn't the time of day that affected her. She could be in a padded room suspended in air and as soon as Brittany walked in she'd probably break a bone or pull a ligament.

Brittany grinned slightly still trying to determine where she stood with Santana. She was easy to read when she was behind the eight ball, but then she'd throw in a trick shot, which in this case was her willingness to participate in Brittany's adventurous date, and suddenly Brittany was at a loss. Rounding the corner, both women saw Santana's door and Brittany felt Santana retreat a little into herself. She was nervous and Brittany didn't have to guess why.

Santana realized the nearness to the end of the night. She had never reached this point on a date and truly not known how it would play out. Santana had always been the one who made the decision for, dictated the rhythm, and steered the direction of the relationship but Brittany had taken control. They stopped outside by the stairs and Brittany felt like whatever happened next would be her responsibility. "About my lunch offer, I promise to give you at least an overnight heads up and not to send you anymore random gifts unless I…."

"I'm sorry. Can I stop you?" Santana's voice surprised Brittany. It had come out soft and shaking, but determined.

"Of course." Brittany wasn't sure what Santana was stopping, but she backed off both by moving slightly away and by ceasing to speak. Watching Santana move slowly forward then back again, Brittany was trying to gauge how Santana was feeling and what was going on in overdrive in her head. Obviously Brittany knew where she wanted this moment to go, but Santana was the one that mattered.

Without warning, Brittany felt Santana's lips on hers. Involuntarily breaking out into a broad smile, she had to lean forward in order to not break the connection. Her mind went blank focusing all her energy on the woman in front of her.

Santana was shivering in foreign warmth. She was unaware what had come over her, but she felt the need to take the lead. Brittany undoubtedly had command over herself and whatever feelings she might have and Santana needed to remember how that felt.

Not wanting the moment to end, mainly because Brittany was literally holding her up, Santana forced herself to pull back. In spite of everything, Santana was markedly more surprised at her actions than Brittany. Even when she tried to dominate a situation, Brittany swooped in and swept her off her feet.


	6. Beginning to Get to Me

Author's Note: Holy mother of sweet purple bunnies! There are lot of ya'll! You have rendered this writer incapable of verbalizing my gratitude. Whew. All I can say without fumbling too much is read on...oh and I promise I'm going somewhere with all of this so please have some faith in my seeming randomness...

* * *

><p>Santana woke up before her alarm to a quiet apartment. Apparently she'd beaten Quinn to the morning which was a first. Thoughts of Friday night still ran vividly through her mind; she would have been content to lie in bed for the rest of the day and let them consume her, but she had managed to be bargained into Sunday coffee with the Mayors of meddle town and pixy land.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Quinn walked into Santana's room to find her sorting through the layer of clothes on her floor. "I swear, Quinn, if you're here to ask me to go, again, let me save you some time. No. I don't know if you've noticed but they tend to think they have entertainment rights to my life."<em>

_"They were good friends to you. Even when you had your 'I'm a badass. Treat me like the Grinch' complex." Quinn knew Santana didn't owe her any favors, but this was important to her. "All I want you to do is spend an hour of your day with two people who want to see you." _

_"I was a bad-ass, then I moved in with you and I lost all credentials." Santana focusing intently on the garment she'd had in her hands._

_"I invite you to remember that was your idea."_

_She looked up. Quinn was not going to let this go, possibly ever, and Santana was already tired of the questioning. Besides, the best thing about Quinn was that she would do anything if she wanted something bad enough._

_"I get this," Santana held up the gray jacket she'd worn the previous night, "and I'll go."_

_Quinn eyed the sweater, contemplating its worth against her desire for the solitary woman in front of her to reach out to Mercedes and Kurt and crossed her arms. "I hate you, you know that right?"_

* * *

><p>Releasing herself from the comfortable chains of her bed, she went to the bathroom and let water run down her back, waking her completely. It wasn't until she was in the kitchen, ready to walk out the door save for her shoes, that Santana heard slow stirring. Minutes later, Quinn entered the living room, dressed, but lacking her typical morning fever.<p>

"Why is it that when I work my ass off to be on time, you can't seem to get your shit together?" Quinn wanted to respond but she was exhausted, drained of all energy to counter with even the slightest degrading comment.

"You look terrible." Santana finally blurted out, taking note of the silence and looking up to see puffy eyes, a Rudolph nose, and a sluggish general appearance. There was a level of irony in the timing that caught her attention and forced her thoughts back to Friday; everything seemed to have that effect. "Like you got the crap beat out of you by an infected chicken cult."

"Flattering." Quinn knew what she was trying to say, but sometimes her word choice was lacking. Making it to the kitchen, she drank the remainder of the orange juice; although she wasn't sure it was going to stay down. She hadn't felt like this since she quit her high school cheerleading diet.

"Are you ready?"

"Absolutely not. There is no way I'm going anywhere with you looking like that." Santana moved in front of the door, but Quinn didn't make a motion to return to her room. She gave up her favorite sweater for today and she was not about to give and not take; although generally considered a virtue, within the confines of their relationship, it was a death sentence.

"Alright, have it your way. Remember I asked nicely."

"You didn't ask me any….Put me down!" Santana carefully but quickly threw the pale woman over her shoulder, easily carrying her away from the door to her room. She'd carried her friend many times after parties in college since Quinn was, by Santana's standards, a light weight. Knowing she'd probably pay for the action later, she felt she had no choice. Quinn was sick and had no business exposing whatever she had to two otherwise decent people.

"Lopez! We aren't kids anymore; you can't go around throwing people over your shoulder like a brutish she-man. This is not funny!" Santana gently placed her ghostly friend on her bed despite attempts to make it as difficult as possible.

"I am not laughing. You look worse than a drugged seal in the Sahara." Quinn opened her mouth to fight but Santana didn't lose a step. "I'll call them. You sleep. I don't want to see you leave this room. I'll be out there, away from you. Stay here."

Santana had taken away all argumentative points and was thus declared silent victor. Knowing she was right, Quinn sunk into bed with a defeated grunt.

* * *

><p>Kurt handed over the correct change and grabbed two coffees off the counter. Carefully placing the larger cup in front of Mercedes, he sat down facing the window. "Just because you conned me into paying doesn't mean you get to spend all my money on ridiculously overcomplicated orders."<p>

"Yes it does." Mercedes took a satisfied sip from her cup and smacked her lips, gaining an exaggerated sigh from Kurt as he leaned back in his chair.

"Once I'm done paying you back, our relationship is going to be strictly Dutch."

Mercedes lit up victoriously at crawling under her friend's skin. They both knew his comment would be revoked the second one of them needed anything; that was the beauty of their relationship.

Glancing at his watch, Kurt scanned the sidewalk. "Does punctuality mean nothing nowadays?"

"When was she ever punctual? I don't think she knows what it means."

"Well I have an important meeting to attend this afternoon, so she needs to hurry." He grabbed his cup again and started to take a sip.

Mercedes scoffed, "Getting a facial does not constitute as a meeting, Kurt."

"It has a designated start time, doesn't it? It has an attendance requirement and a community of people designated for one goal."

"A meeting has a purpose. One that affects the real world, something I think you forget you live in."

Kurt crossed his legs. "Have you seen this," his free hand made circles around his face, "without a facial? Trust me, I am doing the world a favor."

Mercedes couldn't control her laughter only stopping when she saw the light on her phone and felt the music that came from it. Focusing her attention on the message instead of Kurt's odd view of the world, her smile faded.

_Quinn got sick. Can't come. Sorry._

Kurt leaned over the table, read the message upside down and shook his head. "Next time I get to make the plans. You don't have a life and I have places I could have been that aren't here getting stood up by the Count of Monte Bitch-to."

* * *

><p>Santana was about to throw a load of clothes in the washer when she heard her name. "You better be calling me from your bed."<p>

"Does the comfort of the toilet count?" Her face dropped. Quinn was indirectly asking for her help but her being sick was not a rehearsed scene in their lives and Santana wasn't sure how to handle it. She left the laundry room and found a distraught blonde sitting on the bathroom floor. "I feel better than I look."

"For your sake, I hope so." Santana was trying to piece together what could have had this effect on a woman whose immune system was bred from steel. "What did you eat?"

"Nothing.". Looking down, She wished she could tap into her maternal instincts. Everyone swore she had them, but times like these made her question. Exiting the room, Santana was thankful she'd been sick as a child and had a mother who could work wonders.

Quinn sat leaning against the bathroom wall trying to forget the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach but smells from the kitchen forced her to remember. She couldn't place the aroma, but it reminded her of being a child and not in a pleasant way. Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, she turned to see a large mug and plate. Her face scrunched in protest.

"You can do this yourself and save face, or I can do it for you and never let you live it down." She hadn't expected kindness and no one could deny this aggressive bed-side manner got results.

Straightening herself, Quinn took the cup, looked inside and immediately regretted it. "This looks like that stuff," she whispered pointing to the toilet.

It took a few moments to put the puzzle together. "First off, that's disgusting. Secondly, try to not think of that when you're drinking it."

Santana sat down still holding the plate and watched tears fall as Quinn tried to drink. A few sips in, she handed her a cracker and carefully watched as she swallowed, looking exhausted from the motion. They sat there until Santana was satisfied with the amount consumed.

Reaching up to the countertop, Santana put the plate and empty cup on the edge. "Alright, let's go." She stood up and reached her hands out to help Quinn up but ended up doing most of the lifting. Practically dragging her, Santana managed to get her into bed and under the several layers that comprised the sheet set. A bucket was placed next to the night stand and Quinn was asleep before Santana left the room, leaving the door cracked.

* * *

><p>"Aha! Shove that up your pipe and smoke it." She hit the 'Enter' button with gusto and slight malice. Santana had spent the past few hours working on a presentation since she wasn't going anywhere with Quinn being quarantined. The time stamp on the email would show Sunday 5:17p.m., but she almost wanted them to know how put out the assignment made her.<p>

Running her fingers down her face, she realized she hadn't eaten since breakfast. Taking care of a sick person did nothing for one's appetite. She was almost to the tile floor when her phone rang. Turning around she snatched it from the couch and answered as politely as she could.

"Even when you're tired you sound gorgeous." Santana almost fell over. Thankfully the couch was right behind her and she fell into it wrapping her arm around her knees.

"You never stop, do you?" She didn't mind the compliments and multitude of ways Brittany found to be utterly wonderful, but she seemed prepared for every imaginable occasion. If Santana hadn't seen it in person she would have sworn she had a charmer's cheat sheet.

"No. But don't worry, it's not just you. When I was little I was riding my bike with my dad and I ran through five consecutive stop signs because I thought they were a suggestion." Santana laughed loud enough she was worried she woke the sleeping blonde.

"Remind me to never let you drive."

"Hey, I am great driver. Sure my first ticket was for ignoring a stop sign, but no one was coming, well except the sheriff, but that's irrelevant." Brittany heard a suppressed laugh. "It's only funny until it happens to you."

There was a silence while Santana regained herself. "I half expected you to show up at my doorstep with a huge bouquet of flowers or a large stuffed animal."

"That's called stalking and is illegal just about everywhere." Brittany could hear a tired smile across the line. "Besides, you forgot to tell me which ones you like so flowers are out. And yes, you did forget because I asked and you never answered."

Santana was impressed that Brittany could predict her next statement; few people were able to do that and most of them were family. Or Quinn. "Fair enough."

Brittany expected her to finally answer, but she didn't understand that Santana liked having a detail, no matter how small and trivial, that no one but her could give. A part of her that no one, not Mercedes, not Kurt, and surprisingly not even Quinn knew. It wasn't like she was trying desperately to keep it from anyone, it was simply that no one had ever asked before and clearly she was not one to divulge information to any Chatty Cathy that came around.

Relenting to the silence, Brittany's voice once again filled the line. "I want to have lunch with you tomorrow. Consider this your overnight warning."

Taken aback by the statement, Santana was fairly certain it wasn't a question. "No letters in the sky. No parade. No throwing rocks at my window?"

"No. Just me."

_Why was that so much better?_

"But if I ever do any of that, you have only yourself to blame." Brittany heard Santana's laughter radiating from the other end of the line and felt slightly upset that she was deprived of the smile that accompanied it.

* * *

><p>Quinn woke up to the foreign sound of Santana's delight. Even she, as her best friend, could not make her react so completely.<p>

Despite what she protruded to the general public, Santana was delicate. Not in a physical or self-accepting sense, but emotionally. When she chose to open up, she was unparalleled in beauty, loyalty and passion. However, as Quinn learned firsthand in college, when the relationship ended, Santana retreated into an iron shell, welding it shut. She'd go about her normal day as if it didn't faze her, but Quinn heard the sobs and nightmares and gut wrenching attempts to understand what she could have done better or what was so wrong with her that all she was wasn't enough. Santana wanted nothing of her comfort, so Quinn was forced to lie in silence on a wet pillow and listen.

Due to this, she was reluctant when it came to Brittany. Yet, she was the most sincere, loving human being Quinn ever encountered. She was a such a contrast to anyone Santana knew that she felt comfortable introducing the pair and even though she gave her a hard time, she knew when to back off.

Hearing the effect on her friend, in person, reinforced Quinn's working assumption that, even if her roommate was light years behind reality, Brittany was being to get to her.

* * *

><p>"That is not acceptable." Santana was beyond shocked at Brittany's declaration. "You absolutely must eat at Eddie's. It's like a rite of passage into the civilized world."<p>

"Isn't it a bar?" Brittany knew of the place, but wasn't one to strike up formal relationships with establishments dedicated to neon signs and beer logos.

"Well yeah, but a drunk cook is a happy cook, and happy people make great food. Ed is hands down the best." Brittany listened as she was read the menu from memory hearing the intricate differences between every plate. There was apparently a monumental distinction between the cheese on an avocado burger and the cheese on a bacon burger; even though both were evidentially "holed and peppery."

"…and he then he puts this magical sauce on it and I'm pretty sure I'd kill for it."

"Hold on, you would murder for food and you're worried about my driving abilities?" Brittany knew about Santana's love affair with food, but she hadn't realized it had turned criminal.

"Yes."

"How do you expect me to eat with you now without being worried for my safety?" Brittany was struggling to understand the short, matter of fact answer.

"After your blatant hot dog abuse, I can guarantee I won't want whatever else you decide to ruin." The smile across the line was met by Santana's stomach, growling embarrassingly loud. Brittany's call made her forget about dinner. She made her forget a lot of things; how to speak, how to walk, and on multiple occasions, how to breathe. With the exception of the food part, however, Santana didn't mind.

She looked at her watch shocked to find it was 6:26; she needed to check on Quinn. "I, uh, I need to go. I have to check on…because she's well…I just need to go."

"I understand." Brittany respected Santana's obvious attempt to not dispel her friend's less than poetic state. Less could be said about Mercedes. "But try not to catch whatever she has. I'd hate to have you quarantined because I'm not very good at following rules and I can't get sick right now. Especially when you owe my lunch."

Santana hugged herself burying her face in her knees. Even when she couldn't see her, Brittany found ways to wrap her in butterflies that began in her the pit of her stomach and flew past her heart straight to the smile on her face. This thing, Brittany, and Santana's undetermined feelings were starting to feel authentic. She was so unlike anyone Santana had ever met. Brittany wasn't fully aware yet of who she was wooing, seeing as Santana hadn't given her the tour-de-bitchland, but there was something about the woman Brittany brought out in her that was genuine. "I'll do my best."

* * *

><p>Brittany was following the instructions given to her, but the building was a maze of badly planned architecture. Never having been fluent in her lefts and rights, she kept returning to a central location which was starting to annoy her. Looking obviously lost, Brittany waved for the attention of man who seemed to know where he was going.<p>

"Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me where to find this?" She pointed to a number the front desk gave her.

The man's face flashed from the number to the flustered woman looking slightly confused but didn't say anything. "Up those stairs, take your first right and it should be straight in front of you."

"Thanks." Readjusting the bag in her hand, Brittany walked up the stairs until she spotted the door she was looking for. She wasn't sure if this was one of her better ideas, but she was here; no turning back. Knocking rhythmically on the door, she waited for an answer.

"Come in."

* * *

><p>Raising her eyes slightly only wanting a glimpse of her visitor, Santana did a double-take. "What the hell? I thought I was meeting you in an hour?"<p>

"About that, I'm covering a class for a friend. I just found out I'd been volunteered, apparently they don't take me seeing you as seriously as I do."

"You could have called."

"Apparently you don't take me seeing you as seriously either." Normally she would have called, but she had a surprise. "However, since I promised you lunch…"

Santana's eyes drifted to the brown bag with confusion filling her face. "Should I be concerned?"

Brittany let her answer her own question. Santana hesitantly opened the brown sack and upon seeing its contents, fought the urge to tackle Brittany. To her relief, she quickly regained control of herself. "How did you manage this? They don't allow to-go orders. It's _law_."

"You have friends in very drunk places, apparently. All I had to do was say your name and they knew what to do. It was sort of weird though. This one guy seemed a little too happy; he sang a lot, although I'm pretty sure it wasn't English, or anything audible and he hugged me goodbye." Brittany's face twisted at the memory.

Santana laughed knowing exactly who she was talking about. "He does that to everyone, don't take it personally."

Brittany was smiling broadly. It was still undetermined where the relationship stood but as long as she wasn't expressly told to stop, she would continue to be the cause of the glow Santana was emitting.

Santana put the plate down, moved to the other side of her desk, and forwent her earlier resistance, effortlessly throwing her arms around Brittany's neck, not caring if she was squeezing too hard. There was purity in the position that caused Santana to beam into Brittany's shoulder. A few moments passed until Brittany knew she couldn't stay any longer and forced herself to step away.

"Not that I'm complaining, but I really need to go." There was an intimacy level in merely holding Santana that she wasn't expecting. If this feeling was reward for simply bringing lunch, not actually staying to share it, she'd be sure to stop postponing plans with Santana. "I'll see you soon, though."

"Oh yeah. Of course." Santana let go against her body's better judgment. She'd make a point to do that more often. "Um, thank you."

Brittany turned to walk out of the office leaving Santana to jump giddily within herself knowing that soon could not come fast enough.


	7. The Corner of Yes and Maybe So

Author's Note: Have I mentioned my beta is the best? Cause it's true. Oh and for those who asked for angst, be patient. It's coming. Trust me, I know these things. I have to build up my little world first, otherwise it makes no sense. Anyway, I love ya'll dearly for being so wonderful, and because of that, enjoy Brittany being well...Brittany :)

* * *

><p>The office smelled of Eddie's, sending Santana's mind to a pair of crystal blue eyes. This was becoming a permanent state of being and although it wasn't the worst, it was overwhelming. Chiming from the hall told her it was four o'clock. It had only been a few hours, but it didn't matter; soon was not soon enough and she feared that with Brittany, it would never be.<p>

A red light lit up on the overly complicated device that sat on the corner of Santana's desk. Reading the number, she realized she hadn't spoken to Quinn since she had forced her to stay home, taking executive authority on the basis that she could, even if not everyone agreed. It was also for her benefit, but Santana would leave that part out.

"Leave any trails around the house, Puke-ahontas?"

"Your sensitivity is astounding." There was frustration at not being able to retort properly. They both couldn't wait for the illness to leave so they could resume their dignity-stealing, pride-bashing friendship.

"That bad, huh?"

"Better than bad but not insultingly wonderful, yet." Quinn had been lying in bed all day and hearing a voice, no matter how demeaning, reminded her of her lack of human interaction. "Can you come home, please? I'm a people person and this solitary confinement is not going to cut it."

"I'll be home later. After your bed time, later." Santana hadn't planned on saying anything but her hand was being forced.

"What do you possibly have to do on a Monday night?"

"Better things than join your Petri dish bacteria colony." The statement offended Quinn. She wasn't contagious, just a minor cold; certainly nothing warranting this apparent alienation. "Besides, you've been trying to get me out of the apartment for months and now that I'm volunteering you have objections. You're flaking a little there."

"I also wasn't infested with a drugged Sahara whale or whatever you said yesterday."

"Seal, and all the more reason for me to leave. Oh, and you forgot the chicken cult."

"That too!"

"I don't mean to disappoint your attempt at social contact, but I actually have to go." She had a few more calls to make before she left; mainly housekeeping within the department but enough to keep her busy. "I'll see you later."

Quinn stared at the phone in disbelief that it now voiced a dial tone. She had been politely hung up on by Santana. Obviously she needed to go back to sleep, being awake wasn't making any sense.

* * *

><p>Brittany stood in the middle of a mirrored room surrounded by the other dance teachers at the studio. The day had just come to an end and there were twice as many conversations going on as people present. Brittany was packing her bag when she stopped dead in her tracks. The sudden change in demeanor did not go unnoticed by her colleagues who had stopped all conversation and focused on her.<p>

"Hey," Santana offered, becoming morbidly aware that she didn't plan this out as there were people now observing the situation. She used to be better at spontaneous acts.

"What are you doing here?" Brittany was frozen in exhilarated bewilderment. As thrilling as seeing Santana was, she had seen her not six hours ago and this was certainly the last thing she expected her to do.

"I'd like to redefine 'soon' to mean right now." She appeared to have a handle on herself, but the dozen sets of eyes made her heart pound. She and Brittany were by the door, a safe distance from the curious mob, but Santana felt like they were hovering.

_Note to self: next time drag her outside before you open your mouth. Breathe. You're fine._

In control Santana was downright sexy and Brittany was floored. She was taking in the laid back appearance and almost forgot she had to respond. "I thought we decided overnight warnings. I don't recall getting one."

Santana shrugged, still trying not to turn and run. "Payback."

* * *

><p>"This isn't overkill? You already had it once today."<p>

"You can't overkill Eddie's; it's impossible, but we're not going there. We are going _there_." Santana pointed to a building embedded in the middle of the block surrounded on three sides with at least four buildings every direction. The words 'The Corner' were lit in bright red.

"That makes no sense."

"That's the beauty of it. Think of it as Eddie's little sister bar." Brittany looked at Santana as though she'd lost her mind. "If your food can be faithful, my bars can have siblings." Brittany couldn't argue, but it didn't ease her confusion.

"Just come on." Santana could see the uncertainty, but she had thought this through. So far, Brittany had her on her heels, constantly waiting for the next mystery bag or phone call. She needed to be with her in a place she felt completely comfortable, a place she could at least stand flat on the ground for a while.

The door opened to reveal several round tables with a varying selection of chairs laid out in no particular order. In the back stood a towering shelf filled to the top with classic beer cans and pictures of people Brittany could only speculate were regular patrons. On the right wall a collage of television sets hung all turned to different stations but omitting no sound. The jukebox in the middle of the floor by a support column provided the low hum of music.

Santana waved to the woman behind the bar and led the way to a table close to the front by decorated shelves. Brittany arrived to find that Santana had waited for her to sit down. It was clear that she wanted a specific chair so Brittany took one facing the open room. A few other people were scattered throughout the establishment, but they sat by themselves and most had their attention toward the right wall, watching everything from the news to captioned soap operas.

"There's my pretty girl." The woman came to the table and addressed Santana enthusiastically. "You don't come see me anymore. You call but you don't stop by."

"Been busy lately." When the woman did not accept that as a proper reason, she continued. "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you."

Her words seemed to do the trick and all attention was put on Brittany. A hand was outstretched as the woman introduced herself. Taking it, she reciprocated the politeness. "So what can I get you, the usual?"

"Actually, can I just get water?" Santana's change of plans struck the woman who looked at her and then at Brittany. Focusing back on the regular patron, they exchanged a silent conversation which ended with Santana shrugging and the woman grinning.

Brittany was confused. Something had secretly transpired but it was clearly about her. "For you?"

"Water is fine, thank you." Brittany turned her attention to Santana who had tucked her feet under her so she was sitting Indian style. For once, Brittany was at a loss. She wasn't uncomfortable or nervous, just not prepared for this side of Santana. It was another puzzle piece in the mystery that was the beautiful woman in front of her. She watched as the woman across the table settled into a calm, collected contentment.

The woman returned placing glasses on the table and Santana proceeded to order. "Mine for two, please."

"I knew you asked for a reason."

"They're not in season I had to check. Besides it gave me an excuse to talk to you." The woman smiled stealing a glance at the oblivious blonde before walking away leaving the pair alone. Brittany wanted know what she'd just been volunteered to eat, but it was clear Santana had other plans.

"So you brought me here to a dimly lit corner to pollute me with your food of the night?"

Santana smiled at what was becoming their continual disagreement on anything edible, or by each other's definition practically poisonous. "It's for your own good."

* * *

><p>"Hello?" The ringing startled her and she sounded groggy, stuffed-up and out of breath.<p>

"Quinn, sweetie, you sound sick."

Sitting up, the shocked blonde could already see a dozen ways this call could end badly. "Yes ma'am, nothing major. I should be feeling better in a couple of days." She paused, not sure why she seemed to perpetually find herself in unsightly situations. "Is there something I can help you with?"

* * *

><p>"It's looking at me." The woman had returned and placed a large plate in the center of the table and an empty bowl near the edge. Brittany was a little overwhelmed. She knew food came from animals, but she didn't want it to look like one when she ate it<p>

"It's dead. It's not actually looking at you."

"It's staring at me! How am I supposed to eat it?"

"You don't eat that part. Just face them my direction and you'll be fine."

"What part do I eat, then?" Santana point and Brittany's face went pale. "I have to eat its…" she paused for a moment deciding which word to use so as to not offend the food. "Its rear-end?"

"Yes. You tear it off and…"

"What!" Brittany looked mortified. "Santana! How can you do that?"

"Okay, seriously. You've never eaten these before?" Santana thought the order would cause a reaction, but she assumed it wouldn't be the first time Brittany encountered crawfish.

"No! Why would I do that? Look at it!" Brittany held up an example. "They're so ugly they're cute; you can't eat cute little…things." Brittany accented the final word by waving the creature around in front of her. Apparently Santana was wrong but there was a first time for everything.

"I guarantee, at this point, they don't mind." Although true, the words did not soothe the paralyzing concern on Brittany's face. She was troubled by the task she was being asked to perform. There were certain lines she didn't cross when consuming food and feeling like she was stripping it of is dignity was one of them.

While she was extending the list as to why she should refuse to eat the meal, Santana began a demonstration. "Okay, here's how this works. You hold the stomach…."

"Belly." The word stated matter-of-factly caught Santana's attention. "What?"

"It's the called the belly."

"It doesn't matter what it's called."

"You don't call it a stomach button do you? No? Okay then, it's a belly."

Brittany ignored the answer-seeking expression her date wore and pressed her to continue. "Keep going if you must."

"Anyway, you hold its stom…" Santana rolled her before eyes before continuing, "Right here, and the back part over here and you pull. Put the upper half in the bowl; you don't eat that part. The tail is what you want." Brittany was having difficulty grasping what she was about to do. Seeing how easily the butchering process was made her feel uneasy, but since it was something Santana obviously did on a regular basis, she was going to try to not hate the idea.

Looking at the one still in her hand, Brittany felt the need to pet it, not twist it apart and eat it like a barbarian. Positioning her fingers gingerly on its belly and tail end, Brittany looked across the table for confirmation she was holding it correctly. When she received a smiling nod, she turned her attention back to her hands. "I'm sorry."

Yanking it apart, Brittany felt less savage than she thought she would. The fact that Santana was beaming broadly helped; the things she would do for that smile.

* * *

><p>"Yes ma'am, I understand." Quinn paused for a response and upon receiving it, promptly answered hoping to end the conversation as quickly as possible. "Yes ma'am, I know it's Monday. I take it as a good sign."<p>

_Wrong word choice._

"Not a sign as in something is happening, just a branching out to new experiences sign."

_Geez, stop digging a freaking crater!_

"I should get some rest, but I'll pass the message along….Yes ma'am…you too."

Placing the phone down, Quinn fought between the urge to find the situation humorous and feel horrible for her friend.

* * *

><p>"Next time, I get to know what a 'mine' is before the lady walks away." Brittany had eaten half of the plate, but she'd only shelled two. She made Santana do the rest. However, it was over and she was not in a hurry to repeat it. "Okay, you need to say something because otherwise I'm going to keep looking at that bowl and I really don't want to.<p>

Santana was almost enjoying the fact that she had the upper hand. As much as she didn't want that to go away, she didn't want Brittany to be noticeably disturbed either. "Fine."

Standing up, she grabbed the bowl and walked away. Brittany watched as she took it to the bar and placed it in front of the woman who started laughing. Between the silent conversation and the current exchange, she was missing something.

As Santana sat back down, once again placing her feet under her, Brittany decided to try to get her date to volunteer the information. "Should I be jealous?"

"Of her?" Santana had to laugh. The woman was over twenty years older than her and about as straight as the world was round. "Why would you need to be?"

"One, she's been secretly staring this direction all night. Two, you've shared several private conversations. About me no less. Three…actually I don't have a three, but the first two totally count."

She saw the small chuckle that landed in Santana's glass. When there was no immediate answer, Brittany started to ask again; although it wasn't her typical persona, she could be demanding when the situation called for it. However, she was stopped when she saw shifting on the other side of the table.

"She's staring because she impressed." Santana knew this conversation would come up when she settled on the idea earlier that day. She also knew she would never say it otherwise. "This is my solitude table which makes it the only table I sit at when I come in here. That's why we had that 'private conversation'; she wanted to know who you were that _you_ could sit at _my_ table. She's harmless though, no need to go ballerina hulk on her."

Brittany hovered on the 'who you were' part. The rest was irrelevant.

"And because you're going to ask, I told her she was losing her touch if she couldn't tell already." Santana never ceased to amaze herself at the many ways she found to dodge stating something directly.

Getting the sense that an emotion based conversation wasn't her date's first choice, Brittany hid her smile and focused the discussion elsewhere. "Would a ballerina hulk be a ballerina painted green or the hulk in a tutu? Because I'm all for the second one."

The image of an awkwardly large man prancing around the city in a pink tutu claiming he was overtly upset caused Santana to real back in laughter. She appreciated the change in topic more than anything, but Brittany could drastically change the mood with her humorous interpretation of otherwise bland comments and Santana could get used to that.

* * *

><p>Waving goodbye to the woman as she wiped down tables, the pair entered the street with Santana's fingers losing intertwined with Brittany's. She'd tried similar contact before and the world hadn't come crashing to a fumbling halt, so she felt safe trying again<p>

The ease in which they seemed to fit together made Santana grin inside; of course it would feel natural. With Brittany, running backwards on a treadmill in the middle of Central Park singing show tunes would probably feel natural.

The walk from 'The Corner' to Santana's apartment was unwontedly short. However, it did make sense that she wouldn't live far away from places she visited frequently. Reaching the stairs, Brittany knew that if the relationship was ever going to get past its 'still mildly awkward' phase, she'd have to take matters into her own hands. Coming to a stop, she didn't allow Santana to talk, move or do much of anything. She pulled her in a kissed her; awkwardness be damned.

Pulling away, Brittany slid her hands around the waist in front of her. "I would say I'll see you soon, but I'm scared it'll result in me massacring those cute little things again."

Santana smiled. She could say it was because of the comment, but they both knew otherwise. "If you would be more specific, we wouldn't have a problem."

_Touché_. Looking skyward, Brittany pretended to plan; she wasn't ready to let go yet.

It didn't take Santana long to figure out what was going on. As much as she too was enjoying this moment, she knew that, although it was substantially more under control, her composure would only last so long. "Your opportunity to give me overnight warning is vanishing rapidly."

Brittany looked down to see a rather coy woman despite the evenness in which the words came out. Whatever she did to deserve this feeling was still a thought in process but, right now, she didn't care. A beautiful woman was in her arms making her heart flutter and fly around her chest.

Santana may have been falling, but Brittany already had and was waiting on the ground to catch her.

* * *

><p>The door to Quinn's room was shut when Santana went to check on her. Opening it, she found a wide awake woman lying on top of the comforter. Moving further into the room, she stopped just in front of the night stand. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"<p>

Green eyes whipped over to her. Quinn needed to be tactful in how she spoke. This could go smoothly or hit every pothole in the greater tri-state area. "Speaking of mothers…"

"...I wasn't…"

"…Yours called."

"What!"

_Pothole route it is. _


	8. Too Much Too Soon

Author's Note: Hello Loves! The next few chapters are packed. Sorry if I throw a lot at you. It cools down (a little) after that. Also, I apologize, in advance, if I don't get the next few up quickly. Like I told my _wonderful_ beta, I hate discontinuity. Thus I'm being forced, at this point, to take my time and make sure everything matches up. It doesn't mean I love you less. In fact, take to mean I love you that much more. :) Every couple has their down moments, and life happens but I'd like to think I know what I'm doing (so hop on board and trust me, please). Like always, I LOVE all of you absolutely wonderful individuals for sticking with me. Anyway, enough of my babbling. Onward brave souls, onward.

* * *

><p>"You are banned from EVER answering the phone again!" There were so many thoughts running through Santana's head she didn't know which one to grab on to, not that it mattered. It all came down to her parents being in the same city as Brittany and the obvious implications.<p>

"It's not my fault! Wherever you were was a dead zone. That's why we have a house phone! And please stop yelling, you're giving me a headache."

"Giving you a…how do you think I feel?"

"I don't have to think, you're YELLING IT AT ME!" Quinn laid her head deep into the pillow, finding the situation neither humorous or worth her pity

Santana fell down leaning her back against the bed. "This is not fair."

Seeing how distraught her roommate had become, Quinn decided the moment wasn't one for joking; she took the insensitive route instead. "It's not for a few weeks. Stop being so fussy."

"Not the point and you know it."

It wasn't as bad as she was making it, but Santana was the poster child for dramatics and her family triggered Oscar-winning performances. "It'll be fine. I didn't tell her anything. You can hide it if you want.

She heard the words not as an insult but as an actual suggestion. It wasn't that Brittany was a woman; her parents knew before she did. The problem was that they were the grim reapers of happiness. She was proud to be their child but they tended to disenable their verbal and moral filters when it involved her.

"If you think about it, though, they are a lot alike; your parents and Brittany. Both are unapologetically honest when it comes to you and I for one would love to be a fly on the wall when they meet her."

"If." Santana corrected

"When."

It may not be soon but it was a matter of time. Quinn was quite certain of how her friend felt, even if she denied or refused to admit it. Assuming she hadn't run her off by then, they would have been seeing each other for a couple of months and with the way Brittany made Santana feel, who knew where they would end up.

* * *

><p>The next morning was spent stealing heavy glances at the phone. Her mother was probably waiting anxiously but she didn't want to lie and she wasn't sure she was ready to have this conversation. Nevertheless, it was better to ruin her day early and have Brittany fix it over lunch than the alternative, so she dialed the number.<p>

"Hello?"

"Hey, Momma."

"Santana! Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"They have phones here."

"Well, yes dear, obviously, but work is for working, not calling your mother. Call me back at lunch."

"You get me now or not at all."

"Fine." Santana knew she should be nicer to her mother but she was one of those people you gave an inch to and they would take the entire eastern United States coastline. "Your father and I will be in town and we are expecting to see you for dinner along with whoever was hidden from me last night."

Santana sunk in her chair. Why she thought Quinn would be successful in hiding anything was a mystery. However, since the truth was out, she might as well dive in head first. "Look, I'm not going to make her do anything. She's bound to have better things to do than see the two of you."

Hearing her mother's grunt, Santana decided to try and be less offensive. "I will ask later but don't assume it's going to happen. In any case I've only known her for a couple weeks. There is such a thing as too soon, Momma. Oh and while we're on the topic, the only things you're allowed to bring with you are clothes and your nice, non-invasive selves. Got it?"

"It's a few weeks away, dear; you'll come around. I'll talk to your father about our packing arrangements but you can't _assume_ you'll get what you want." Santana rolled her eyes. There was no doubt which tree she fell from. "Anyway, unlike you, I actually work at work, so I have to let you go, but we will call when we finalize our plans. I love you, sweetheart, take care."

"You, too." The phone was on its way back to the desk when a voice interrupted its motion.

"Excuse me, young lady." Putting it back on her ear, Santana heard the end of the comment but knew its meaning by heart.

"I love you too, Momma." She sat the phone down and couldn't help but chuckle at the situation. It was going to be a disaster, but as least she could look forward to it.

* * *

><p>Lunch served its purpose, making the day exponentially better. For once, they had a fairly normal outing. Brittany insisted on sitting outside the sandwich shop in between the studio and Santana's office, because she claimed lunch was always better outdoors. Although there was logic against it, such as it was cold, windy, and there weren't any tables, Santana had come to the conclusion that socially accepted common sense and Brittany would never mix.<p>

So they sat on the ground just outside the window. The legality of the action was up for debate, but people seemed to ignore them for the most part. The few stares they received were from children who appeared more jealous than critical.

Brittany dominated the conversation mainly because she could discuss seven different subjects at once. In one sentence, she commented on the man across the street, the lack of lettuce on her sandwich, a coworker, and the rock under her shoe. Santana might have been used to jumping topics, but she had nothing on this woman.

Every so often, in between mouthfuls and sentences, Brittany would gently nudge her lunch partner; Santana's mind wasn't entirely focused on where she was. She shrugged it off on work and while it wasn't an outright lie, it was clearly less than the whole truth. Brittany let it go accepting she had no right to demand an answer, but it bothered her nonetheless.

* * *

><p>Thursday was Santana's day of choosing. After sandwiches and Wednesday's seemingly random trip to a quiche shop, she drug Brittany to the nearest burger joint thankful to be in the company of perpetual drunks and loose-lipped bartenders. It was home, even if she'd never been to this particular establishment.<p>

Although she was less than impressed, Brittany chose to go along because it seemed to be the only time the guarded woman thought about possibly opening up. While she wasn't being entirely forthcoming, Santana made attempts to be more verbally compliant. It was just easier to listen.

Brittany talked about her sister a lot; it was clear she was her best friend and closest confidant. For the first time, Santana felt as though she missed out by being an only child. As nice as it was to have her parents' undivided attention, she realized there was no guarantee someone would be there to spend holidays with or birthdays or be there to make up games for her if she was bored in the summer. It was silly little things, but until now, they had never crossed her mind.

* * *

><p>On Friday, Brittany suggested a new restaurant a colleague told her about. Much to Santana's appreciation, they insisted on seating the pair inside, near a heater. Again, Brittany talked, mainly about things she liked: Christmas, baby animals, watching other people dance, decorated socks. Occasionally, Santana spoke at which point each word would be used to decipher the small distance between them. As a whole, it was played off as a minor issue because Brittany assumed she would find out eventually and went about her day. Santana was content to ignore it entirely.<p>

Placing plates on the table, the waiter left the pair alone to stare. It struck Santana that trusting Brittany's translational abilities was not her brightest moment. The parts they could identify they ate, leaving the plate filled with the untouched, unrecognizable rest. When they walked out, it was an unspoken agreement to try to stick closer to home; certain things simply should not be consumed.

Their one day apart, Saturday, was at the hand of Mercedes and Kurt who were in a passionate battle to determine who could assemble the best outfit using the ugliest designs circa-1950. According to them, it took more knowledge to combine the worst elements than take already proven ideas. Nobody questioned it.

When Santana heard the details, she promptly found other plans, telling Brittany Quinn had ordered a cleaning day. She'd fully recovered late in the week and felt the need to sanitize every square inch of the apartment, so Santana wasn't exactly lying. She conveniently left out that she wasn't planning on helping.

* * *

><p>Sunday night, Quinn walked up the stairs to the door ready to once again find an empty apartment. If Santana hadn't been there for the past three years, she would have sworn she lived alone. She hadn't seen much of her roommate in a week, and although she was enjoying an abnormally high level of self esteem, she felt out of touch.<p>

Then again, she had never had trouble communicating with Santana so whenever she decided to grace the apartment with her presence, Quinn was certain their relationship would pick up where it always seemed to leave off.

Walking into the entryway, her eyes fell on bare feet resting on the coffee table. Instantly knowing who they belonged to, Quinn set her keys in the glass bowl. "People eat on that you know."

"They eat on plates. The plate sits on the table."

Quinn smiled inwardly. Making her way to the kitchen, she put the grocery bags on the counter and began sorting through each one looking for the cold items. Opening the fridge, she found there wasn't room for anything new because there was a rather large container taking up the bottom rack. It had appeared Saturday and didn't look like anything she'd seen before. Freeing her hands, she took it out and turned to the living room. "What _is_ this?"

Looking up from the couch, Santana eyed the jug. "It's for Brittany, put it back." It had taken her all of Saturday to complete it and she was rather pleased with herself that she could still pull a few surprises of her own.

"Why is it in our fridge?"

"Because she's coming over."

"What? When were you going to tell me?"

"About the same time you were going to tell me Hootie and the Blowfish featuring Tinker Bell would be tonight's entertainment." Santana hadn't looked away from the Travel channel deciding the conversation wasn't worth her undivided attention.

Quinn wasn't sure how that detail had slipped out but, taking a moment to think it over, remembered Brittany was Mercedes' roommate and that was one woman who couldn't keep anything to herself. "My friends are allowed over whenever they please."

"So is my girlfriend."

Quinn almost dropped Brittany's container. That was new. "Girlfriend?"

"God, is this Jeopardy?" Santana focused her stare directly at her stunned friend. "Stop asking so many damn questions. And yes that's generally what they are called."

"That's not what you call them."

Frustration was starting to build within the tiny confines of Santana's body. There was a reason she didn't have these conversations. "We are not discussing this."

"Actually, it sounds like we are. When did that happen?"

"I don't know, somewhere between the beginning and right now. Can't pinpoint an exact moment for you, sorry." She returned her full attention away from the kitchen.

Quinn was speechless. She was impressed; upset that she hadn't been told, but impressed nonetheless. She stared at the woman in front of her with new eyes.

Feeling the penetrating gaze, she threw her hands up in irritation. "What?"

"Just appreciating taken Santana. I gotta say, it works. All that relationship radiating off you; looks good."

"And you wonder why I don't tell you anything." Quinn smiled through the comment; Santana was proud to be taken. However, in the middle of being happy for her friend, reality smacked her in the face. "Wait, you made me clean the house _by myself_ when you knew Brittany was coming over?"

"Honestly, stop with the questions. You're making my head hurt."

"You could have at least cleaned the kitchen."

"You're better at it."

"So not the point."

"It was mine."

Seeing she was making too much sense to win this battle, Quinn retreated. She now knew Brittany would be there soon, followed shortly by her guests and there was still a lot to do.

* * *

><p>Cadenced knocking brought Quinn out of her culinary trance. While it wasn't something she did often, it had always been an enjoyable past time. Making her way to the door, she opened it to find a pair of rather oddly dressed individuals. "I would ask, but I'm not sure I want to know."<p>

Mercedes was about to answer but Kurt interrupted. "She refuses to accept that I won, so I told her we'd let you decide."

Letting them in, she gave them a once over trying to determine the point in their attire. Clearly she had missed some major changes in the fashion scene. "What am I choosing between exactly?"

"Who looks better." Mercedes jumped in before Kurt could throw in his long winded explanation that naturally would leave hints to choose him.

"Better as in more attractive or better as in who failed to look in a mirror today?"

"Both." They said in unison.

Quinn wasn't sure what episode of Extreme Makeover she'd stepped in to but she'd be sure to miss next season. "I'll get back to you on that."

As the guests made their way in to the living room, they looked at each other thinking the same thing. "Where are Beauty and the Beast?"

Rolling her eyes, the chef for the night grinned slightly at the innocent reference. "I sent them to the store. I forgot a few things and they were being disgustingly cute. It was starting to make me feel sick again."

Mercedes and Kurt looked at each other smiling like teenage girls on prom night. They knew it had been going well, but 'disgustingly cute' was a new development. Quinn caught sight of their internal conversation and was about to intervene when she heard raised voices followed closely by the front door flying open. "…Because it is my goal in life to make you miserable."

"You said it, not me."

"Really?" Santana threw a bag on the table answering Brittany by turning her back and walking away. "You're such a girl!"

"Well I'm glad you finally noticed." Going into her room, she slammed the door shut creating a barrier between herself and the object of her frustration. Not wasting anytime being hurt by the gesture, Brittany opened the door and walked in closing it gently behind her leaving Quinn to feel like she was an intruding by stand there and the diva pair to stare in disbelief.

"No, I mean like a whiney little five year old who complains when she can't micro manage every little detail."

Santana whipped around, offended. "Take that back!"

"Everything has to be done your way."

"I do not whine!" Santana couldn't deny the control aspect, but to be considered a whiner as a blow to her self-esteem.

"Have you ever heard yourself? That's all you do. 'I don't wanna eat there'"

"The waiters looked like dying penguins."

"'I don't want to see that movie.'"

"It's two hours about glowing sticks and a lack of asthma medication!"

"And the newest one, 'I don't wanna go see the puppies.'"

"They were behind someone's fence, Brittany! That wasn't me whining, that was me keeping us out of jail!" Santana couldn't argue extensively on the first two charges, but for the last one she held the upper hand.

Brittany tried to stay calm in the midst of the raging fire that was standing in front of her. "All you do is reject me."

"Not you, just your ridiculous ideas!"

"At least I have them and don't wait for someone else to swoop in and save the day from the dismal gutter you keep it in."

Santana was growing impatient with every word. Apparently, Brittany viewed their encounters differently than she did. "I have them! You just say no to every single one. Oh wait, that's whining; heaven forbid you be whiney."

"Your ideas involve uncivilized applications of otherwise decent activities."

"Counting the number of people you can hit while playing mini golf is not uncivilized; it's American."

Brittany listened to the seriousness of Santana's words. She truly believed such an activity was an appropriate past time; a fact Brittany wasn't sure was okay. "You're so insensitive."

"Sensitivity implies that I care, and I don't."

Staring for a moment, Brittany was genuinely shocked by the statement; not the content but that it had been said so dryly. "That much I have figured out despite the fact that the only time you talk about anything worthwhile is when we're sitting in some dusty beer driven tavern and even then it's pulling teeth!"

"That's who I am, and I don't need your permission."

"I'm not trying to judge you! Not that I know who that is; you won't let me find out. Everything I know about you I've either pieced together _on my own_ or I knew before I met you."

"That's because you do enough talking for a hair salon convention. We can't all spill our lives to just anybody!"

"I'm not just anybody!" The term struck Brittany harder than intended and the calm exterior she'd managed to keep melted away. "I am your girlfriend! Or I'm trying to be, but you make it so hard! At first it more or less okay, I was new to you and I understood that. Now it's just insulting!"

Both women were taken aback by the sudden shift in the argument. How they went from which bread cut to get for Quinn's dinner to this was beyond them both. As they stood there in silence, both refusing to admit that they had taken it too far, the weight of the room took its toll. They briefly considered being the first to speak but Santana knew she'd fumble through her words and make it worse and Brittany was convinced she was right.

So they stayed still, parked in stubbornness, five feet from each other.


	9. Something's Gotta Give

Author's Note: I read my story from the beginning to where we are now. I've kinda just been plugging along and I realized how much I love the little world I have created, with help of Mr. Ryan Murphy's characters, of course. I also went back and thanked my friend for posing the question that started this because I am thoroughly enjoying authoring this story although I don't know where half of the comments my characters say come from. Anyway, sorry, I'm thoughtfully reminiscing, back to reality. Have a wonderful weekend! Onward, my fandom family. Onward.

* * *

><p><em>Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have said 'reject'. Clearly she's not rejecting me. Just sort of not accepting…in a way. I don't know. Whatever I meant, it wasn't that, and I definitely meant whatever I didn't say. <em>

_…Damn Lopez, just apologize already! She may have had a point that she's not just anyone, but I didn't mean it like that. I meant…I was just trying to… well once again this is my fault._

_Why can't it be like puppies? You always know what they are feeling; they are incapable of showing you anything else! 'Sad' face, 'happy' face, 'hungry' face, 'I need to pee' face. It's so simple…I still think we would have been able to pet them…_

_Three little words, 'I am sorry,' come on woman say those three little words…_

"You scare me."

The sudden declaration surprised both women, but mainly Santana because she hadn't meant to say it. Brittany briefly considered responding but she'd never scared someone before so she was at a loss.

It was too late to turn back now; she would have to explain. Against her nature, Santana forced herself to continue. "It'd be easier if you screwed up once in a while, but you never let up. I can't talk about me and try to not fall over myself at the same time. You don't even have to be in the room, Brittany, and it's only been, what, _almost_ four weeks. That's intimidating."

Brittany stood in complete shock. She wanted to know more about her, understand her quirks, let her know she was thought about; she hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable. That's just who she was. "That may be scary but I'm not going to stop unless you can stand there and tell me, honestly, that you want me to."

Santana pondered the end of Brittany's genuinely charming ways; that's not at all what she was asking for, or arguing against, or whatever this had turned into. "Wanting you to stop being you and wanting to share every detail of my life the way you do are two things with different answers."

Brittany couldn't deny that she tended to talk a lot about her life, but in a world of constant change it was the only thing she knew without hesitation. In all of her story telling, she'd failed to see how Santana would take it as a plea to reciprocate the gesture. The space between them decreased significantly and she forced Santana to uncross her arms in an attempt to loosen her up and calm her down.

"Look, I'm not asking you to tell me your life story." Brittany paused trying to figure out exactly what she was fighting for. "I'm asking you to tell me why you find it necessary to drink out of two straws instead of one like normal people or why you ask for your sandwich with tomatoes just to take them off. I want to know how you manage to work in the bottomless pit you call an office or why it's important to you that we go through an even number checkout lane instead of a vastly shorter odd one. I'm asking for you to be you, no matter who that is."

Santana looked hard at the floor knowing as soon as she looked up all her frustration and anger would melt in the happiness of sparkling blue eyes. What Brittany wanted was simple and thus incredibly difficult. Asking for Santana was like asking to be a part of the Running of the Bulls; you were either deemed insanely brave and stood your ground, or you turn and ran. So far, the latter was a predominate result.

Sensing the muscles in Santana's shoulders start to relax, Brittany knew that, for now, the worst was over. They still needed to work through their apparent communication issues, but at least the shouting was over. Holding tightly to her hands, she leaned over and pressed her lips to Santana's forehead. A smile found its way onto the shorter woman's face; the gesture was protective, caring and of course, coming from Brittany, utterly perfect.

* * *

><p>Quinn was filling the weighted silence with her opinions on a vast number of topics hoping that if she was talking, her guests would be less inclined to ease drop. Mercedes and Kurt sat at the table with their backs to the window twiddling their thumbs. As much as they both enjoyed being in the middle of other people's lives, they drew the line at arguments.<p>

* * *

><p>"How much of that do you think they heard?" The question made Brittany chuckle slightly.<p>

"They probably stopped listening somewhere around 'dying penguins.'"

Santana wondered what made her to use that particular phrase. She rested her head on Brittany's chin, relishing in the calm trance it placed her in. As much as she despised ending an argument on a good note, in this case, pride wasn't worth what it would cost her. "I really don't want to go out there. Can we just sneak out the window or something?"

"It's a two story drop."

"I've done worse. It's not that bad actually, it's all in the landing."

Brittany pictured the two of them hitting the ground, attempting to run and her being stuck in some shrub like a common criminal. "That's the part I'm worried about. Besides I don't know if you smell that or not, but it's making me hungry."

She may have had a point. Santana inhaled the scent; Quinn was a master chef and it appeared she'd out done herself. "Okay, but I am forewarning you, I haven't seen them in a while and it might get ugly."

"I live with Mercedes and for all practical purposes Kurt; I'm used to the insults and references I don't understand. And in case you missed what they were wearing today, I think 'ugly' has already been taken."

Santana smiled, finally looking up to see Brittany trying to erase the image from her mind. She was exquisite. She'd always known she was a beautiful woman but this was different. This was human perfection, effortless grace. Every line on her face, every movement her eyes made as she danced back and forth between her thoughts, every strand of hair that laced her cheeks; breathtakingly stunning.

Shaking the spell she was under, Santana loosened her hands from Brittany's iron clad grip and cupped her face kissing her on shear need to be closer despite being two inches apart.

Brittany wasn't surprised at all. She had been waiting impatiently for Santana's apology; it may not have been said outright, but sometimes actions were the best words. Being with her, like this, made Brittany feel at home, as if she'd always known it, always had it. Pulling her body flat against her own, the feel of Santana's hands on her face caused her knees to shake until she was standing on will power alone, wanting time to stop so she didn't have to.

However, she did, pulling away slowly making it clear Santana was welcome to do that whenever she pleased. "If we don't go now, we won't ever. Stop distracting me."

"I was still operating under the window theory."

The look Brittany gave her, filled with amusement, told Santana it might be too soon for window jumping. If you fell wrong, the consequences were catastrophic; one had to be careful. Maybe one day.

* * *

><p>"Is she smiling," Kurt whispered in Mercedes' direction. "I didn't know she could do that."<p>

"Shush," Mercedes spat as the contemplative man scrunched his eyes. Brittany led the way into the kitchen with Santana avoiding all eye contact. She walked straight to Quinn and to everyone's surprise, including her own, started helping.

Kurt watched in amazement, leaning over to where Brittany was standing. "What did you do to her?"

The confusion on her face was understood by Quinn who had walked over to the table to put a bowl down. "Trust me; she's still Santana."

Mercedes noticed the questions still raging in her roommates head and couldn't help but find the situation humorous. Brittany was about to get a full dose of Santana Lopez, the whole package; not the love sick version.

* * *

><p>Santana was uncomfortable. Her entire life, past, present, and future, was seated around a table where home field advantage meant nothing. Utensils clashed violently with plates and the sound of someone clearing their throat shook the silence, but did not break it. Kurt eyed his plate and then looked around the table.<p>

"In lieu of the budding awkwardness I would like to comment, in otherwise unnoticeable passing, on the meal in attempt to strike a match under somebody's chatter tail." Mercedes shook her head knowing he had increased the complexity of the situation. Quinn and Santana looked at each other silently vowing to discuss guests in complete detail from then on but Brittany smiled, glad someone, other than her, felt like fixing the problematic lack of conversation.

"That bud of yours is now a full grown flower. Good work, Papa Hummel." Santana never used his first name. She used to tell people he didn't have one because the circus burned that part of his birth certificate. In reality, it was too personal. "Besides, the atrocious sack you're wearing is making it hard to think straight."

Mercedes took that as a victory for herself and proudly showed Kurt her opinion.

"You too, June Clever. I don't know what drugs possessed you to think _that_ was okay." Kurt smirked to his right where a wounded Mercedes absorbed the blow. Brittany was trying not to laugh; as true as the statements were, she was careful to not let on that she thought so.

"Santana…" Quinn knew it was lost cause to ask for politeness, but insulting guests, no matter how accurately placed, was hard for her to stomach.

"No, no, no, this is not a 'Santana be polite' moment. Those two should know better." Brittany placed her hand on Santana's leg to ask for perhaps a softer tone. Santana felt the touch and stopped due the puddle her mind had become; she needed to work on that.

Mercedes, however, noticed the exchange, seeing as she was looking intently for it. She grinned knowingly and attempted to hide it but forgot how observant Santana could be when she was nervous.

"Jealous?" The table was lost, but Mercedes understood she had been caught.

"Honey, there ain't a soul alive man enough to handle this chunk of lovin'."

"It's not the capability they lack; it's interest."

Quinn chocked on her bite; she had missed spending time with her friend. Brittany looked over asking if she was okay but she waved her off and emptied her glass trying to defer the attention away from herself.

"Did I miss the line of gorgeous women begging to be with your stick figure ass?" Remembering they weren't alone, Mercedes added, "No offense, Brittany."

"Wait, what line?" Quinn quietly explained across the continuing banter that it was simply a way to get under Santana's skin and reassured her if there was a line, she'd be its leader, by a mountain range, a couple oceans and a continent for good measure. Brittany knew that, she was more concerned with the group of women she'd have to kick the crap out of; Santana was her's.

"I know this will be difficult, because your's is lonely, desolate, and just, well, pathetic, but stay out of my life."

"When you get one that doesn't rise and set with a neon moon, I will." Everyone looked at Mercedes like she had just signed her death sentence. There were certain things one did not say to Santana, and referencing her drinking habits was the top of that list, even though she hadn't had more than one drink at a time in almost a month. Mercedes, however, looked directly at her opponent. She may have crossed a line, but she wasn't alone.

Santana stared at her challenger expecting her to regret her comment. After a few moments, she rested knowing Mercedes was not backing down. "A little rusty, but overall not bad."

"You could use a little spit shine too, Mama." The two women let the conversation dwindle into silence, happy with the knowledge that the parts they loved about each other were still there and that they hadn't gone too far to prove it. Quinn gave a long sigh of relief and settled back in her chair.

"What is going on here!" Kurt screeched, searching for Quinn's eyes hoping she could offer some explanation.

"I told you. She's still Santana."

"Never mind that!" He waved his hands flamboyantly and turned to Santana. "She gets a full on hello and I get 'atrocious sack.'" Kurt shook his head in disgust. "I thought I meant more to you."

Brittany looked at Kurt like he suddenly grew another perfectly groomed face.

"She gets the 1950's reference and a dialogue while I get two measly words. If you're going to insult me make it sting a little. I'm talking about something that makes me want to go home, curl in bed and watch The Sound of Music twenty times just to hear Julie Andrews belt out 'My Favorite Things' in hopes of returning to my former Kurt Hummel glory. Is that so hard?"

Santana turned her attention to Kurt. "I'll work on some that make you question your unnatural obsession with that movie."

"That's all I ask." He let his hand fall to his lap and returned his attention to his plate.

Apparently Brittany was the only one who found the desire to be insulted odd. While she had become accustomed to a life of verbal attacks, she couldn't imagine someone wanting them, especially from a friend. However, everyone seemed to have settled into a comfortable familiarity and not wanting to create another awkward moment, she decided to ask about it later.

In between Mercedes' endeavor to explain how the failed fashion challenge came to be, Brittany reached over putting her hand on top of a sun-kissed shoulder blade and ran her fingers delicately back and forth sending chills down Santana's spine. The softness forced her to smile broadly, though there was nothing funny about the rather pathetic explanation.

"Please stop doing that," Kurt begged noticing how Santana radiated. "It's very unsettling."

Mercedes shot her foot his direction. Feeling its blunt force, Kurt jumped knocking into Brittany slightly. She looked straight at Mercedes with wide eyes begging them both to behave. It was honestly like raising children; over grown, self-sufficient children.

For the rest of dinner, the table was filled with classy, yet highly inappropriate comments. Quinn was beaming; glad Santana hadn't physically removed the pair from the house. Whether it was admitted or not, she knew how much Mercedes and Kurt had been missed. They may not be the easiest to handle, or understand common decencies about personal space, but they were good people, and as was evident by the echoing laughter, master comedians.

* * *

><p>Quinn was gathering dishes, receiving no help from her roommate as she was trying desperately to keep both Mercedes and Kurt from dispelling any memories prior to college. Brittany knew a losing fight when she saw one and let them figure it out as she picked up glasses from the table.<p>

"Please don't. I can do it." Quinn had been raised to treat the guest, but Brittany was raised to help the hostess. "I don't mind. It's better than babysitting."

The two blondes peered into the living room to see Santana clasping her hand over Mercedes' mouth, simultaneously trying to catch Kurt who was playfully dodging her small wing span.

"Did you just lick me?"

"Yes, and I regret it. Ew!" Mercedes had stepped a few feet away from Santana who was wiping her hand on her jeans thoroughly disgusted. Kurt had gone to get his friend a napkin hoping it would help disinfect Mercedes of Santana's germs.

Returning to the maturity of dish washing, Brittany thought about how to approach Quinn. She wasn't worried about getting her approval, she'd literally been picked by her, but she knew the significance of her relationship with Santana.

"Could you do me favor?" Quinn looked up at Brittany who gave the appearance she wasn't sure she should ask.

"I can try."

"Can you not give her a hard time about earlier? I mean, I know that's how you show affection or whatever, but I think everyone, including me, always reminding her of…us, sort of puts her off a bit."

Quinn nodded but saw worry in her eyes and knew it was more than that. She hadn't planned on bringing up the public dispute, but now she knew she couldn't. No one said no to Brittany; it was inhumane.

She put the utensils in the dishwasher before speaking. "I used to think living with Santana was hard but I honestly pity you. You basically have two of her, only worse."

Brittany looked back in the living room to see Kurt fixing his shirt and Mercedes jabbering on about something that was making Santana plug her ears. "It's definitely not something I envisioned doing in my life, but it's a new adventure everyday so I can't complain."

That's why Quinn liked her so much. She took even the worst of conditions, found the best part and clung to it. It was people like Brittany that forced her to believe there was still hope in the world.

* * *

><p>It took about ten minutes and a few carefully planned sentences, but Quinn managed to separate her roommate from her guests. They had been arguing about a specific memory involving Kurt they all disagreed on. Odds were it was some random conversation or tucked away action that no one cared about but with Mercedes and Santana, being right was most important.<p>

The job was made substantially easier when Santana saw Brittany wiping her hands in the kitchen and voluntarily distanced herself from the group. She still had a surprise for her, one she was immensely proud of. Quinn noticed the distraction and attempted to nonchalantly lead her guests out of the apartment, against their better judgment, telling them a change in scenery might help settle their differences.

"I'm not going out there; it's freezing!." Kurt crossed his arms in defiance while Mercedes eyed Quinn finding the sudden change odd.

"Be a man, Kurt. Get your jacket and let's go."

Huffing his disapproval, Kurt spun around effortless and walked out leaving his jacket on the hook. Quinn gestured for Mercedes to follow and she shut the door behind them.

* * *

><p>Hesitantly making her way to the tile floor, Santana caught the blonde's eye and sheepishly addressed her. "Um, could you sit down…Please?"<p>

Brittany wasn't sure what was going on, but Santana looked satisfied with herself so she pulled a chair out and sat down.

"Okay, so you know how you said Christmas was your favorite holiday and that you were Dutch, but your family never really celebrated it that way. They always did it the American way?" Brittany nodded still not sure where this was going, or how she remembered something she'd said in the middle of lunch one day admist several other conversations.

Santana went to the fridge, checking every few steps to make sure Brittany hadn't moved and grabbed the large pitcher that had filled up the bottom rack. "Well, I did some research, and apparently this stuff is a big deal."

She saw it had a yellowish tint and, with their recent experiences with food, Brittany had a right to be skeptical. "What is it?"

"I can't pronounce it but it's eggs, sugar, brandy and I think vanilla something or another. I just followed the instructions." She'd been planning this for a whopping thirty-six hours and it hadn't been spoiled yet. That was a major achievement and she was proud of herself. "I don't know what it's supposed to taste like but the first few batches were definitely worse."

There was a surprised look that Santana couldn't help but notice. Given the way the relationship started out, the uncertainty made sense. She grabbed two glasses and went to the table. "You may be surprised, but I used to be how you are in the relationship. I don't mean to be closed off and I'm not trying to reject you. I'm not used to this side of the fence so it comes with the territory."

Although it came out slightly as a slash toward her earlier word choice, Brittany saw the door open to calmly discuss what they were yelling about earlier. "I didn't mean reject, that sorta just came out. You can be extremely irrational when you're mad and I got a little flustered."

She let the accuracy of the statement sit in her head for a moment impressed that Brittany called her out without hesitation. She was irrational, but she'd always been like that. She didn't know how to argue any other way. Wanting to shift the subject to anything but her personal sparring habits, she smiled thinking of some of the illogical analogies she'd made. "I would say I didn't mean the thing about the waiters but that would be lying. I like my waiters to look like me, not midget tuxedos."

Brittany's eyes dance with her smile. Santana knew the fault was with her; she was a hot head and got upset about nothing. Although she wasn't one for apologies, she knew she couldn't just whip out a smart ass comment and it would all work itself out. She would have to be more forthcoming.

"But about you wanting to know me, I don't know how to tell you this, but who you've been seeing is me. In a way. It's me when I'm not being the whole me, which is sort of a lot to handle. I'm really clumsy when no one's looking and I only know what to say when I'm insulting people. I'm working on it, but who you saw is me. The less forceful, calmer, nicer me." Brittany started to laugh at Santana's inability to explain which side was or was not her. "I'm serious!"

"I know you are, but you're making it too difficult. You are who you are: forceful, clumsy, charming, fumbling, everything. I want to see it all and I don't care how much handling I have to do. I'll manage." Santana processed the idea, pouring two glasses and handing one to Brittany who continued to talk.

"I don't know if it'll make you feel better, but I like clumsy you. I get to tell people I am so unbelievable charming that I literally make people run into things. It's a point of pride." Santana saw the smirk and obvious sarcasm of the statement, but knew Brittany wasn't lying; she truly was that charming.

"But tell me this, if you're such a fumbling mess, why did you suggest we jump out of a window?"

Santana lit up. Finally, something she felt comfortable discussing. "Now that I'm good at. Your girl here can get out of any window and be half way down the street in less than a minute."

Brittany listened to the delicate procedure required to successfully sneak out of a building and run away unseen. It was something she'd never thought of doing but it sounded so simple. Taking a sip of her unnamed Christmas beverage she was surprised to find it wasn't half bad. She had nothing to compare it to, but she could taste the effort that went into it and for that reason alone, it was the best thing she'd had in a while.

* * *

><p>The wind blew unrelentingly as the trio walked around the block for the fifth time. Mercedes and Kurt's bickering had died down and there was a silence Quinn appreciated. She had offered to walk them home but they refused to go without Brittany so she was forcing them to walk laps around the building.<p>

"What did I do? I'll take it back in exchange for a heater." Kurt bargained shivering against himself.

"I told you to bring a jacket."

"After you questioned my manhood!"

"Yes but I didn't realize your answer would be stupidity."

Mercedes was as frozen as Kurt but she conserved her energy letting him continue badgering Quinn. "If this is punishment for any comment I made during dinner, I apologize."

Knowing brute force was the only way to make them understand her seriousness, Quinn held nothing back. "Here's how this is going to work. In ten minutes, we are going to go back in there and you two will not enter the kitchen, look at the kitchen, or even think about the kitchen. You are not to ask Brittany about the events of the kitchen, or anything else referring to her personal relationships at any point for the rest of your lives. Leave her alone; leave Santana alone. Got it? Our jobs are done. They are grown women. If they stop seeing each other tomorrow, that is their choice. We are not going to interfere from here on. Is that understood?"

The pair gawked at how stern Quinn appeared. She was all for interfering to get them together, but not to keep them together. It made no sense. Before she agreed to anything, Mercedes decided to find the motivation behind the sudden change of heart. "What's in it for you?"

She knew her true motivation of wanting Santana happy would not be sufficient, so she went with the next best thing. "Little dancing-devil babies to call me Auntie Quinn. Any other questions?"

They shook their heads. For that, they would move continents and cease communication entirely.


	10. When No One Else is Looking

Author's Note: Welcome Back! Can I just say I have the politest reviewers ever? Ya'll ask for updates so nicely, it makes me feel bad that I can't type faster. Anyway, this segment is a little different than the previous ones. I've dug a little bit into my girls' minds, which is enjoyable for me, but it changes the style slightly. Hopefully you'll enjoy as you continue onward, my loves. Onward.

* * *

><p>"I can walk. Stop! I'm fine!"<p>

"Let me help."

"It's a damn scratch; leave it alone."

Hearing the voices escalade from the front door, Quinn walked out to see Brittany fussing around a flustered Santana. Deciding she probably didn't want to know, she gracefully turned around and went back to her room. It was evident that Santana was pissed because she, no doubt, embarrassed herself with an act Brittany found attractive, and Brittany was trying to make it better which was driving Santana crazy; clearly everything was fine.

Brittany managed to lead Santana toward the couch, where they stood with their opposing ideas of what was going to happen next.

Determined to prove that she could equal Santana's stubbornness, Brittany was prepared to stand there all night; minor injury or not, she was going to help, and Santana was going to let her.

Recognizing that Brittany could probably stand longer than her, given their respective professions, Santana scrunched her eyes to show her distaste for the situation and sat down. She was in the process of learning to pick her battles, although she didn't see what the big deal was. It wasn't like her head was falling off; that would be an actual problem.

"Thank you. Now, stay there, please."

Santana watched as Brittany went into her room. "Asking nicely doesn't make this any less painful for me."

"I thought you said it didn't hurt."

_Technically, I said I was fine, _she thought._ Not that it didn't hurt._

Brittany returned, trying to suppress the humor she found in the situation. However, the string of non-offensive substitute words Santana managed to lace together as they walked to her apartment, the way she tried to play it off, along with the pouting face she now sported were, collectively, hard to resist.

"Stop laughing!" She threw a pillow missing Brittany's head by a long shot. "It's not funny."

Brittany picked up the pillow and brought it over to the couch. Using it as a cushion, she sat on the floor clearly ready to doctor Santana's shin.

She had her arms folded and her scowl in place. As evident by the bandage beginning to swaddle her leg, it had not been one of Santana's finer days. They had been walking down the street when she felt the need to climb on a bench. Brittany told her she didn't think it was a good idea, although she knew it was wasted breathe; Santana took advice from no one.

One step led to another and Santana went from the bench's armrest to the ground before Brittany could react. The edge of the metal caught the falling woman's pant leg and it pulled the hem up colliding with her skin, leaving a six inch scar in the making.

"I still don't know why you thought that was a good idea."

"You know what; I don't want to hear it. I can climb on a bench if I want to."

"I'm not saying you can't. Just that maybe you should consider understanding your limits."

"I know my limits," Santana spat. "And I find them about as pointless as this conversation."

With that, Brittany continued to cover the wound silently. A week and a half ago that tone in Santana's voice had started their verbal boxing match, but they were working on their communication and Brittany had picked up on certain things; such as knowing when she needed to back off.

Santana wasn't as upset as she sounded; her pride was simply wounded, again. Even if she wanted to be fuming mad, since she was, after all, being treated like an incompetent child, it would be difficult because Brittany was gently tracing her hand over the minor injury, taking caution not to push too hard. She was tender in a way that Santana had never known before; not only physically, but with her intentions. She wasn't trying to get anything out of her other than the smiling knowledge that she was happy. It was absurdly sexy, and Santana was doing all she could to not throw herself in the woman's arms.

It was no secret that their relationship wasn't as physical as her prior ones, which was partly due to her inability to touch the woman without risk of injury, hence the current situation. However, the main reason she had self restraint was because it was Brittany and, somehow, that meant something.

Focusing intently on cleaning and bandaging the cut, Brittany was racking her brain, trying to find a way to make Santana feel better. Disregarding the 'I'm fine' comment, she planned on taking this opportunity to show her affection, while she still had a good reason. Since their disagreement, she was trying to be less intimidating while staying true to who she was.

Leaning over she placed a few kisses on the bandage as well as the surrounding area, just in case the pain from the initial scratch decided to spread. She could be as physical as Santana was accustomed to, but in a different way. Her way was protective and caring; not rushed and random.

"Too much?"

Her shin must have been directly connected to her soul because Santana felt every shade of bliss. She hadn't had someone kiss the pain away since she was a little girl and it didn't matter that it was silly; the simple gesture had control over her.

She tried to say no, but she could only manage to shake her head. It was too much, but she wanted Brittany to feel comfortable doing that again because it was, somehow, not nearly enough.

* * *

><p>Surprised she had been allowed to act like a normal human, Santana arrived to work on Friday thankful to be away from Quinn's morning rant. From the time they left the apartment until they parted ways at the office, she had been discussing the effects of sugar and cream had on one's coffee and therefore the enjoyableness of the day. It was a worthless waste of time and Santana had come close to losing it.<p>

Normally such rambling wouldn't have made her think twice, but walking to her room, her thoughts were elsewhere and the extra noise was not helping. She had been working on not being intimidated by Brittany and the previous day's activities were certainly no help. Why had such a simple act made her think about the woman more than usual?

Generally, Brittany would dance around her head until she drifted off, but as she slept, she could feel those kisses as though they were tattooed on her. She'd even keep the oversized bandage on because she knew it would make Brittany happy.

What was happening to her?

When they first met she wasn't scared at all. The situation was new so she was cautious but fear was the furthest thing from her mind. Somewhere between bottle bowling and bandage kisses, something changed.

She knew certain thoughts concerning Brittany frightened her; such as the idea of spending a day without knowing she was on her mind. She hadn't figured out what that meant yet, which bothered her, but she understood that it was the cause of her fear. She pondered asking Quinn, but then her brain caught up with her and that idea died all too quickly. So, for now, she was left to wake up, go to work, see Brittany, and then reluctantly say goodbye wishing it was possible to exist without sleep.

Her train of thought was derailed by the ringing of a device that held her captive from nine to five. Answering it, she was forced to remember she was at work and she had things to do that didn't involve the gorgeous blonde. It was a somber thought, but one she was forced to accept.

* * *

><p>Brittany left work right after her last session trying to avoid being asked to fill in for anyone; she had someplace better to be. Sitting in the chair near Santana's desk she was eyeing the empty vase to her right. It still sat on the edge of the desk, a sight that made her smile inside.<p>

Santana was searching for something she needed to send out before she left. She'd thought she was done for the day, but the suck-up from two offices down stopped by just as Brittany arrived reminding her to make sure it got done. That and the fact that he left the room eyeing her woman made him number one on Santana's 'poisoned coffee' list. Actually, he was the only one.

"What are you looking for?"

"A stack of stapled pages with a signature on the top."

Looking around the room, Brittany watched as the small woman lifted up piles of folders and scattered papers. "That narrows it down."

"It does," Santana scowled. "It was supposed to be right under this blue folder between these two stacks. It's not there."

She checked inside her top drawer; it wasn't there either. It also wasn't on the shelf, in the filing cabinet, or anywhere on her desk. A string of profanities fell out of her mouth and although largely inaudible, Brittany heard them and gave her a disapproving face; she thought they'd moved past such language.

Santana, noticing the discontent, ignored it as she was starting to worry; she had never outright lost something before, even with her organizational habits.

_Under the folder, between the stacks, _she thought retracing her steps._ Where the hell did I put it? _

* * *

><p>Brittany was starting to get edgy. Anywhere else, she would have found a way to entertain herself, but in the cluttered, drab, uneventful office, she was out of options. She knew they couldn't leave until Santana found what she lost. She was a slave to her job and not always by choice, but that didn't ease her impatience.<p>

"Can you hurry? Please? The room is sad and it's affecting my imaginational ability to not be bored."

"Who's whining now?" Santana's reply came from behind the desk as she searched the bottom shelf a second time.

"I am." Brittany knew the question was rhetorical, but she had no problem admitting her actions.

"Yeah, I got that." Santana sighed, conceding to it not being on the shelf and sat in her chair, trying to jog her memory. She saw Brittany sitting across her desk playing with her pens, tape, and stick note container that lined the front of her work space. "Don't waste my ink."

"Wasting implies I didn't enjoy using it."

"Okay, stop _enjoying_ it then."

"Don't you have a signature to find," Brittany retorted without looking up; she'd found something to occupy her and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

Santana looked across the desk watching Brittany thoroughly enjoy herself. The inner struggle she was having had moved its way to the forefront of her mind again and although she wasn't sure why she felt the need to ask right then, courage was something that came and went and she didn't know when she'd have enough again. It was also the only thing that stood between the pair and completely honesty and that was something she desperately wanted.

"Can I ask you something?" She saw Brittany nod. "How do you feel about parents?"

"Being one or having them, because I love having them."

"Mine."

"I'm glad they exist."

"No, I mean meeting them." Quinn was right, the meet was inevitable and watching Brittany innocently deface an entire stack of sticky notes was somehow the trigger to that realization. It wasn't that she desperately yearned for it, but it was certainly better than asking for her to be brought home. That was out of the question.

"It's just dinner, so we're talking about _maybe_ two hours, if my mother gets on one of her rants. Hopefully nothing horrible." She was downplaying it a little hoping to ease the tense she'd created. No one ever accused the woman of having tactful timing and upon further thought, this probably wasn't the best time to spring this on her, but she had done it. There was no going back now. She kept her eyes on Brittany trying to gage her reaction.

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course." She didn't mind Brittany thinking it over; it actually made her feel better. It meant she understood the consequences and the statement it was making and she hadn't blown it off, saying yes just because she asked.

Brittany's thoughts were not so calm. She played it off as her being focused on what she was doing, but she was trying to piece together anything she could grab on to. This was certainly not where she foresaw this conversation going, not that she had been fully focused on it to begin with. There were so many questions. How soon? Where is this coming from? Are they expecting me?

It wasn't that she didn't want to. Rather, it was that she wasn't convinced it was Santana's invitation and not based on pressure by socially except standards or her family.

* * *

><p>Santana sat there for a few minutes running through the possible hiding spots left in her office. She stole glances at Brittany wanting to know what was going on in her head. Not just on the matter of her parents, but in general. She seemed entirely too pleased to just sit there and ruin sticky-notes. It was something she would have never thought to waste her time with, but Brittany looked as though she could be content for hours.<p>

Throwing her head back, the fact that it was Monday was not helping her thought process. She could stay and look for the next several hours before she found it and she wasn't sure if more time would help as it was.

_Screw it,_ she thought. The suck up could wait; he was due for a dose of Santana hate anyway. It wasn't like a day would make that big of a difference and Brittany was a reminder that she had better places to be. Work controlled her from nine to five, but after that she was completely and undeniable Brittany's. She might not completely understand her captivation with the woman but she sure wasn't going to figure it out here playing hide and go seek with her Waldo packet.

Walking over to the blonde woman, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, kissing her cheek and instantly feeling more relaxed. Brittany had that effect on people. Letting a moment pass, content to just hold her, Santana wanted to leave as soon as possible; the idea of spending her after hour's time in her office was not appealing. She was about to ask if she was ready to leave but Brittany had picked up her vase.

"What are you doing?"

"Making this room happier." Brittany started strategically placing her decorated sticky-notes, covered in everything from stick figure animals to flowers to goofy smiling faces, on the small glass case.

Santana looked at each one as Brittany placed them in, what she considered, seemingly random spots. There was one that had nothing but a huge smile resembling the Kool-Aid man, only less creepy. Another one had tree with either a squirrel or a cat in it; she couldn't say for certain but refrained from asking.

The more she put on, the more the vase turned into an actual picture. There was a sky with birds and clouds hovering over the ground which held trees and animals. Anyone who said Brittany was not an intelligent person, clearly did not know her. She simply saw the world in an innocent way and the more Santana saw of such a lifestyle, the more she was inclined to think it was the way everyone should live their lives.

"I like that one." Santana pointed to a sunflower looking piece that had a large smile drawn in the middle, sitting on what she guessed was grass. It reminded her of Brittany: bright, smile inducing and innocent.

"Then that one," she said picking it up off the desk, "can go right here." She placed it near the top; one of the only unaffected spots left. It rearranged her vision of the final product a little but she didn't mind.

Santana smiled broadly. Brittany brought out a softer side of her; a side she only showed when they were alone. No roommates, no public audience of any sort; just them. If anyone else had done that to something she owned, she would have thought them to be immature, chastising them until she got tired of watching them squirm. However, because it was the bubbly blonde, she knew she would proudly keep the newly refurbished vase in plain sight on her desk.

"Come on, Picasso. I need to get out of here."

"Did you find it?"

"I'll do it tomorrow."

"I don't mind waiting," she offered, still completely immersed in her art and craft project.

"It's fine. He's an ass anyway, and before you tell me to watch my language, don't. Even you would have a problem with him."

"Doubt that. I love people."

"Brittany, please, I'm begging you." They could sit there all night discussing this and she would lose her mind, or they leave and Brittany could talk all night about whatever she wanted and Santana wouldn't care.

Having successfully stalled long enough to completely cover every transparent inch, Brittany set her masterpiece back where she found it and followed Santana out of the building.

* * *

><p>Arriving home later than usual, to a sleeping roommate, Brittany was grateful to have the night off from her friend's need to talk about nothing. She threw her bag on her floor and went straight to the shower.<p>

Letting the warm water run down her body, she tried to free her mind from the ever present grip Santana had on it. Their relationship had improved significantly and she now understood Santana's fears. Brittany had fallen hard and fast and although being with Santana didn't worry her, on the contrary it made her giddy with joy, being without her did.

She went out of her way to be subtle so she wouldn't be overwhelming and it resulted in her doing things she hadn't done since she was a child. Kissing bandages and decorating small parts of her office were ways Brittany could make sure that, even if she wasn't outrageously romantic, she was the thought that got Santana through the day.

Slipping into her pajamas, she checked her phone to make sure her alarm was set and found a message awaiting her.

_You left too soon again._

Everyone saw Santana as the one who was constantly affected by the relationship but no one took a step back to realize that Brittany was in a ten foot hole, shovel in hand, with no hope of ever climbing out. The way her belly simultaneously sank because she already missed her and her heart flew because she wasn't alone was certainly no help.

Pulling the covers back Brittany crawled into bed wide awake, staring hard at her ceiling like it magically held answers. Every night she ended up here, wishing Santana was next to her, wishing she could see her smile, hear her laugh, be able to reach over and hold her.

She knew tomorrow held another day of being with her, but the need to have her around all the time was overpowering. She rolled over and the only thought that made any sense was that she hoped to never run out of tomorrows.

* * *

><p>Author's P.S: Speaking of tomorrows...after almost a year, I get to go home tomorrow, to see my family, so I apologize in advance if I don't get to upload. Don't think I've forgotten you. How could I? You people make me smile too much. :D - see like that, only bigger and more animated. Anyway, thought I'd give you a heads up so, like I said, you wouldn't think I forgot about you. Have a fabulous weekend!<p> 


	11. It Depends on How You Look at It

Author's Note: I'M BACK! Woohoo! For someone who didn't know what fanfiction was two months ago, I sure did miss it for the past two weeks. Ya'll are so addicting! You rock my world with your kind words and continual excitement about this story. Ya'll make this what it is, without you reading it, I wouldn't have kept writing it, and just look where we've gotten together. Yay us! But, since I have missed ya'll so much and can't wait to hear for ya'll again, without further ado, continue onward, my friends. Onward

* * *

><p>Santana's door was open so Quinn wasted no time debating if she could enter. She had been sitting in her office wasting time redoing paperwork, hoping that, eventually, she would get a call that told her she could move on with the company's newest contract. However, after a morning of getting nowhere fast, she decided that if Santana was going to hold up progress, she was going to make sure she heard about it.<p>

"I need you to send that form in."

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She emerged from under her desk where she had spent the last hour searching. There were, apparently, several blue folders covering stacks of paper lying around her room.

She had walked into the office that morning hell bent on finding it first thing, but the boss man called to yell about something then the ass wipe from two doors down chose to engage in fruitless conversation resembling small talk, at which point she was trying desperately to not throw him out of the window, leading to her prolonged coffee break. Regrettably, she did not drag him along; he was still number one on her list. By the time she got back to her office, it was after eleven and she had done nothing.

"You were supposed to have that done yesterday."

"Well, I got sidetracked. Brittany was here and…"

"I do not want to know," Quinn waved her to silence. "I can't do my job until you do yours. Hurry up, woman."

"Hey, wait a second," The words made the leaving blonde stop and peak through the door. "Do me a favor?"

"I know I'm hot, Lopez, but I've told you, you're not my type."

"Kiss my ass."

"Wow, with a request like that, I might have to change my mind." Santana shot her a flock of obscene hand gestures, telling Quinn she was pushing her luck. She may be emotional immune to the verbal beatings, but she was fairly certain Santana was stronger than and could out run her; she was fine not testing that theory.

"What do you want?"

"Take this with you." Santana held out the packet she just found.

"Are you kidding me?" The look on the woman's face showed no signs of jest, meaning she was actually asking to have the work done for her. If Quinn didn't know Santana to be a self-centered, individualist with the pride complex of Attila the Hun, she would have sworn the woman was incapable of functioning without her. "I can't. Someone is waiting on me and you're making me late."

Santana's sudden interest caused Quinn to correct herself, instantly seeing a hundred ways this could be made uncomfortable for her. "Not that kind of someone."

"Mmhmm."

"I don't have to explain this to you; it's just lunch. A woman can grab a meal with a friend without it having to be that kind of someone."

"So is this a one time someone or a possible forever someone? I'm all for the a few of the first option. You've been a little cranky lately."

"You know what, never mind, I'll do it." Taking the packet, she turned to leave before the woman, who was beginning to enjoy the moment entirely too much, could ruin her day.

"I bet you will," Santana smirked.

Quinn stopped dead in her tracks and had to remind herself to breathe; there were times she wondered how she managed to not strangle the woman.

* * *

><p>Unlocking the front door, Quinn put her keys in the glass bowl and leaned her bag on the hallway table. It had been a long day and she would be content with a strong drink, a long bath and the undeniable comfort of her bed. After her unproductive morning, her afternoon was a frantic blur. She ended up having to cut her lunch short because there was the nagging thought that she was behind at work. It was a major character flaw, one she fully blamed Santana for reminding her she had.<p>

Rounding the corner into the dining room, she was searching for Brittany and Santana who were, no doubt, somewhere in the apartment. The past two weeks the pair had been in, what she considered, the honeymoon stage of a teenage crush and although she had a few comments up her sleeve, she was still living under the promise she'd forced Kurt and Mercedes into which banned involvement. It, however, was becoming increasingly difficult for her. Only one of them lived here but she felt as though she had two roommates. It made sense; Santana was comfortable in their apartment and it reasoned that she got to pick the venue since Brittany seemed to dominate their agenda, but it didn't change that Quinn felt her personal space was violated.

Turning into the kitchen, she saw a sight that tested her ability to be the calm, collected, stable Quinn everyone knew.

"Before you get mad, I just wanted chicken…"

"…I told her she can't cook, so I was trying to help…"

"…which led to me burning my finger, which is that mess over there. Brittany thought I was on fire…"

"…you were but anyway, we found that awesome sauce stuff you buy, you know the spicy sweet one …"

"…which is that spill over there since I suggested we use it because, let's be honest, it just makes everything better…"

"…then we sorta forgot to clean because we got sidetracked with other things."

The world must have been determined to make her as uncomfortable as humanly possible because the only part of the joint explanation Quinn heard was 'other things,' causing her eyes to bulge. "In my kitchen, Santana!"

"I'll help you clean up. Most of it was my fault anyway." Brittany felt marginally bad that she'd left the room a mess but as soon as she finished her statement, she looked over to see a sly smirk on Santana's face. Realizing the two women were in an entirely different conversation, she knew she had made it worse. Taking Santana's hand, she started pulling her away from the situation, hoping to spare Quinn at least a moment of sanity.

Santana willingly followed Brittany making each motion look seductive, content to let Quinn think she was serious, gaining disgusted looks from her roommate, who once again truly did not want to know.

* * *

><p>Coffee was the only thing Quinn wanted when she woke up the next morning but, for reasons she was now terrified to ask, there were no filters.<p>

_They should make pills for this_

Frustrated to point of over-stimulation, the blonde rummaged through a drawer and found her writing pad and a pen and jotted down a shopping list, making it intentionally difficult to spite a certain ungrateful roommate. She knew Brittany tried to help where she could, but Santana wanted none of it and she had grown tired of shopping every few days just to keep food in the fridge.

Putting down her pen and reading over her words, she realized she would have a couple of hours of solitude in her apartment. She grinned heavenly at the thought but in the back of her mind, she secretly hoped they could manage to make it back still wanting to be around each other. She didn't want to be the cause of another bag throwing, door slamming, death by glow sticks fight, but sometimes a woman needs to have a place to herself to just be. And if Quinn didn't get that soon, the only thing she would _be_ is the conductor of New York's finest bitch train.

* * *

><p>"Does it matter if I get the thin pasta or the wavy kind?" Santana looked at the boxes trying to see the differences. There was a reason she didn't shop, everything looked the same to her. She'd only agreed to come because Brittany thought it would be 'fun' and she had managed to convince her that they owed Quinn for the kitchen incident.<p>

"The 'wavy kind' is called 'bowtie' and yes, it matters. What does your list say?"

Referencing the folded piece of paper, Santana found it unhelpful. "It just says Pasta, aisle four, third shelf. Who knows a store that well? That doesn't tell me anything."

Brittany, who was pushing the cart, leaned across it and took the list. Confirming that Quinn was an overly organized shopper, she looked back up at the shelf. "She means the thin ones."

"How do you know that?" She followed Brittany's finger which was pointing to the price tags pasted to the metal showing where each pasta variant was originally placed. "The bowtie ones are on the fourth shelf."

Santana was pissed. It shouldn't be that difficult; it wasn't a damn treasure hunt. It was grocery shopping. Snatching the thin pasta box, she threw it in the basket and, taking the list back, marched off.

Brittany stared at the frustrated woman, forcing herself to remember that they were in public and she needed to have some self-control. It was not the time or place, but there were no words to describe how much she wished it was; when Santana was mad, there wasn't a sexier soul alive.

* * *

><p>Aisle nine was a bit of a challenge because every mother in the tri state area needs flour and of course, Quinn, being Betty Home-Maker, was attempting to learn the art of pastries, pies and seasonal breads.<p>

"Pie sheet, aisle nine, unknown shelf." Santana let out a defeated sigh. "For the love of…she knows everything _but_ the shelf in the crowded aisle. And what the hell's a pie sheet."

Brittany, having been shopping with her mother, rolled her eyes, took the list, and moved into the narrow walkway leaving Santana to watch from the end of the aisle. Gracefully maneuvering between the multitude of carts, women and children, she grabbed the requested items and placed them in the basket.

"See, not that bad."

As she lost control of the buggy, Santana could only stand amazed, yet slightly irritated, at the ease in which her daunting task had turned into Brittany's accomplished feat. "Show off."

Brittany turned back and smirked meaning she knew; that was the point.

* * *

><p>They made it to aisle fifteen, thankfully the last one, and Santana was in her comfort zone. In college she and Quinn had mastered the art of the perfectly proportioned peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. This aisle, she didn't need a list for.<p>

"What does 'good bread' mean?" Brittany looked at the piece of paper and was confused why there were a handful of items without aisle or shelf numbers. Santana mindlessly picked up the right loaf.

"This one." Brittany looked up and found that she would never have chosen the right one.

"What makes it…" she began to ask before being cut off by Santana's phone as it played a morbid tune.

"Hold that thought. What can I do for you?"

"Hey honey, we are leaving work early tomorrow. We'll be there in time for dinner." Brittany was holding up two different brands of peanut butter waiting on a response. Pointing to the one on the right, Santana answered her mother, "Okay."

"How many people should we expect to for dinner?"

"I'll let you know when you get here." She took the jelly jar Brittany had just set in the basket out, put it back on the shelf, and replaced it with the correct flavor.

"She hasn't asked her yet." Her father laughed as the comment was clearly for him and Santana, fully aware of what was going on, was insulted.

"I can still hear you and yes I have but I'll let you know when you get here."

"It's rude to keep your mother wondering on these things."

"It's rude to keep pestering me but that's not stopping you." Brittany shook the buggy, asking what honey container was correct. Santana pointed, listening to her mother complain.

"Honey! She's being stubborn, again…No I'm not pestering her. I have rights to know these things!...We'll discuss this later..."

Santana rolled her eyes turning her attention away from the phone conversation. 'Disaster' was becoming an understatement. "Don't bring that here."

"Our bags are already packed," said defiantly. "Which reminds me, we have to leave on Saturday. Apparently, I promised that your father and I would attened a dinner for a colleage. I don't remember doing that, but your father says it's free food, so we're going."

"Thank god," she sighed.

"Excuse you," her mother spat. "If I have to bring my non-invasive self, you need turn your attitude dial to zero." There was a pause as her father yelled something inaudible. "Oh my, your father's hunting, fishing, boorish man channel show is back on, I have to go, but I expect a happy, smiling face when I see you."

Santana hung up and watched as Brittany made sure the list matched the mountain of items in their basket, thinking the phone call she just ended proved she had every right to be nervous. Her parents were overbearing, incapable of humiliation and all-knowing bards to the life of Santana Lopez.

* * *

><p>Quinn heard the door unlock and braced herself for the possible onslaught of flying bags and stinging words. What she found was Santana holding close to twenty bags in her hands and Brittany, proudly, holding none.<p>

"Hi!"

Smiling back, Quinn was at a lost as to why charming, outrageously perfect Brittany wasn't doing the heavy lifting. "Ladies, how did it go?"

"Don't ask."

"Well, you're list was a little difficult but it was okay."

"It was okay?" Santana whipped around in shock. "No, it was _not_. After I followed all of your ridiculously cryptic clues, that one over there stole my keys and insisted on driving back. I told her to take Thompson because I always take it coming back and it's my car, but she claimed it would be quicker to take Galloway. One thing led to another and the next thing I know I'm in a losing bet to carry the bags up the stairs because, apparently, there's construction on Thompson, which _someone_ didn't tell me about."

"How did you get there without seeing the trucks and workers?"

"That was her fault too! We _had_ to take the scenic route _to the store_." Santana spoke the last three words directly to the calm blonde sprawled across the couch.

"Whining" Brittany sang, knowing she was stirring a boiling pot.

Quinn watched as Santana tried to start multiple sentences before resorting to angrily putting away the mountain of bags coating the table. Seeing the woman walk around more whipped than a Beaumont Stakes race horse almost made up for the week Quinn was having. Almost.

* * *

><p>Santana drove herself to work the next morning to prove that she could and realized instantly why she never did. People were stupid. They left blinkers on for miles in the middle lane and had no signals when they did finally turn. Front seats were made into dressing rooms at seventy miles an hour, and there were confused individuals who thought the lines on the pavement were to drive <em>on<em>, not between.

After the headache of parking, she walked into the building in a bad mood which wasn't helped by people finding any excuse to ask her a question.

"Can I get your opinion on this?" _No._

"Do you know what's wrong with the printer?" _Do I look like a squad of four-eyed losers to you?_

"Would you look over my report before I send it?" _I'd rather burn._

"Did you take the last coffee filter?" To the short man who asked the last question, she simply stared and he took it as her answer before quickly turning around and fleeing.

Arriving at her office, she couldn't help but be mildly grateful that Quinn had always been around to handle things such as driving and grocery shopping. Feeling like she was about to think something utterly ridiculous, like maybe she should be nicer or more polite to her, Santana fell into her chair, having never been more ready for five o'clock. Then she remembered her mother was coming and suddenly even Monday shined like a welcome beacon.

As she continued her inner monologue of complaints and possible escape routes, her phone rang, bringing a smile to her face, knowing it was the voice she needed to hear. "Have I ever told you, you have incredible timing?"

"Can you not just answer the phone with a 'hello' like everyone else?"

"Nope, it's part of my charm."

Brittany formed a weighted smile. It had taken her a few days, but she'd agreed to dinner. Naturally, she was hesitant at first. Meeting the parents of a significant other was a mile marker in a relationship and while she had an excellent track record, the fact that these weren't just _anyone's_ parents was starting to hit her hard. This was Momma and Daddy Lopez.

"You still want me to come tonight? I don't mind at all but don't feel like I have too."

"No, please come. It's going to happen eventually, right?"

Brittany was taken aback. The woman, who barely talked about anything substantial, although that was improving, was telling her she saw longevity in their relationship. It sounded wonderful and was exactly what Brittany wanted; it was simply unexpected.

Santana's words finally reached her brain. Apparently the filter between her heart and vocal cords was in need of replacing. "I mean, you have an option in that, of course. My opinion is not the only one that…I meant that if you don't mind it being…"

_Damn it, Lopez..._

Brittany hadn't responded because she was too busy trying to control the pounding of her heart and the perpetual flock of butterflies in her stomach that formed the smile paining her cheeks.

Santana sat back and couldn't help but think that this did not bode well for dinner.

* * *

><p>"Quinn! Help me find your extra sheets." Santana had been rummaging through the hallway closet but had so far come up empty.<p>

"Santana," Quinn sighed, slightly irritated. "What happened to yours?"

"If I knew, would I be asking for yours?"

"Yes."

"Okay, that's true, but I really don't know where they are. I need yours."

It didn't matter if they both had the exact same of something, Santana always ended up using hers. Putting down what she was doing, the blonde got up, went to the laundry room closet, took out the neatly folded sheets and threw them down the hall to waiting arms, making it clear that she was unhappy about the situation.

"You're welcome," Quinn whispered, knowing she wasn't getting a thank you, even though she, of all people, deserved one.

"It's hard to be grateful when the Queen of Sheba is banishing you to the couch." Santana's parents wouldn't demand the bed outright, but if she made them sleep anywhere else her mother would remind her of it until her dying day. The other times they visited, Quinn would go home and Santana would secretly take her bed, but with a full house, she was forced into exile.

"That is not my problem, Santana. These are your parents, not mine. You need to woman up, grow a pair and deal with it." The woman was searching for sympathy, like she did so often when she whined and complained about how shockingly unfair her life was. Normally it was something Quinn would overlook without a second thought, but she knew that if Santana didn't get a hold of herself, her mother would not be as obliging.

* * *

><p>There was a knock that sent Santana into a fury. Quinn, removing herself from the situation, had already left for her 'escape the awkwardness' dinner with Mercedes and Kurt, having already known she would rather be anywhere other than home when the guests arrived.<p>

Opening the door, Santana saw her mother first but threw her arms around her father. "Daddy!"

"Beautiful!" Mr. Lopez twirled his daughter around, wondering how he managed without her closer to home.

Mrs. Lopez brought the bags in and watched as the still embracing pair found their way to the living room. As much as she enjoyed how close they were, she would have appreciated at least an acknowledgement. Seeing his wife all but tap her foot in anxiety, Mr. Lopez whispered to his daughter to go say hello and mean it. Although she was reluctant, Santana let go and moved toward the woman.

"Hey, Momma." Mrs. Lopez offered her own pleasantry as the women tip-toed around each other. Both hoped to refrain from arguing as long as possible, although it seemed to be inevitable.

Knowing she had planned accordingly, Mr. Lopez moved the bags into Santana's room and saw something lying on the floor that made him pause with concern. He would have asked, but the clock on the wall told him it wasn't the best time. Walking back into the living room, he saw his wife and daughter talking quietly which he took as a sign they would have, if nothing else, an eventful night.

"Alright my gorgeous ladies, I believe someone is waiting on us," he smiled, winking at his daughter. "We should go. You know how much I hate to be late."

Santana smiled at her father, knowing he had figured it out the moment she wouldn't tell them one way or the other; he knew her evasiveness better than anyone. "Someone's name is Brittany and I would appreciate some maturity from you two tonight if you can manage it."

Mr. Lopez simply shrugged; his behavior depend entirely on his wife who wasn't listening to a word her daughter said, having already planned how her night would play out.

* * *

><p>Brittany was twenty minutes early to the restaurant making sure she arrived first. This time it wasn't a matter of pride but of principle; one was never late when they were a guest. As she was sitting in the entryway, a soft ding from her pocket alerted her of Santana's message.<p>

_I'm bringing two over grown children with me instead of my parents. Sorry for the change of plans…_

Smiling, fairly certain this was an over exaggeration, she answered and continued to wait.


	12. A Right of Passage

Author's Note: I wrote this chapter on a to-go bag because I was eating with a friend and the chapter sort of decided to write itself right then, in the middle of the restaurant. The waiter thought I'd gone a little loco, but in my opinion it's totally worth it. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Read onward my loves. Onward.

* * *

><p>Santana walked in front of her parents hoping to get to Brittany first. After seeing that her parents hadn't changed since she saw them last, her nerves had started to build. They were bickering softly behind her. They were probably discussing which personality to use to induce the greatest amount of humiliation. She was only guessing, though.<p>

Seeing the light on her phone go off, she read Brittany's reply, thankful no one could see her smile.

_If it gets bad we'll find some window to jump out of :)_

Rounding the corner, the trio inched closer to their destination. Upon arrival, Mr. Lopez held the door open for his ladies and softly let it close behind him. He was barely two feet into the entryway before he saw his daughter rush over to a tall blonde woman who saw them enter and stood up, forming a broad smile. Although, like many fathers, he didn't look forward to his child's public displays of affection, the soft kiss was tasteful and he was already knee deep in his evaluation of this unknown woman.

He stood back as his wife took control of the situation and introduced them; although she did allow him to shake the woman's hand on his own. She had a strong grip, but it was gentle and she seemed calm. He grinned slightly, knowing otherwise.

Brittany was trembling. Mr. Lopez was a large man and people of that magnitude were intimidating no matter how nice they appeared. It also didn't help that he seemed to be judging her every move.

Santana and her mother could have been twins. The only notable difference, besides their age, was Mrs. Lopez talked non-stop, about anything, then nothing, and everything in between. Right then, she was discussing their drive and how her husband drove like a mad man. He retorted that his daughter was waiting for him. Apparently that was reason enough to completely disregard safety signs and other drivers.

The hostess interrupted the pointless banter to direct them to their table. Mrs. Lopez led the way followed by Santana who kept Brittany close. Mr. Lopez rounded out the line and kept his eyes on the interactions between the couple. His job, as a father, was to make sure his daughter would be taken care of, loved, and put in her place every now and again. Mrs. Lopez could worry about the woman's appearance or sense of humor; he would focus on the more important things.

* * *

><p>Reaching their table, Brittany voluntarily took the chair opposite Mr. Lopez. She had a feeling his approval was harder to obtain and more important. Waiting for Santana and Mrs. Lopez to finally sit down, the standing pair settled into their seats and Brittany placed her arm on the back of Santana's chair, making sure she stayed calm by running her fingers on her shoulder. The waiter took their drink orders and left the table in the hands of the still rambling woman.<p>

"So, Brittany, what do you do?" Mrs. Lopez finally realized it would be nice to make an attempt to get to know the woman her daughter had been trying to hide, for a reason she was determined to learn.

"I teach at a dance studio."

"A dancer? Interesting, any particular style?"

"Whichever one they ask me to." Mrs. Lopez was surprised that she was good enough to instruct such a broad range and wondered why, if she was so talented, she was teaching instead of doing, a question she had no trouble voicing.

Santana looked mortified but Brittany had seen the question coming and answered calmly. "I did for a while, right after graduation, but I like it here. It's nice to have a place you know you're coming back to everyday, instead of wondering what city you're in every night."

The drinks arrived and Mr. Lopez was surprised at how mindlessly his daughter took the blonde's straw and how effortlessly Brittany reached over Santana to take her lemon. It looked practiced, refined and he wasn't sure they realized they were doing it.

"Would you ever consider touring again?" Santana actually wanted to know the answer to that, but she would never have thought to ask.

"I don't know. I would give it a great deal of thought but it would depend a lot on how settled I was." Mrs. Lopez may have asked the question, but her answer was directed to Mr. Lopez.

He pretended to be reading his menu, but understood the context of Brittany's statement. As long as she had someone there who needed her, she wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't help but smile; his daughter had outdone herself this time.

* * *

><p>Their food arrived and again, Mr. Lopez was amazed at the ease in the couple's movements. Between the unspoken knowledge of simple things such as which one used salt first and pepper second to their synchronized pauses, even Mrs. Lopez couldn't help by notice. They looked at each other and winked.<p>

"So, Brittany, has Santana told you about her allergies?" Santana went pale. Looking at her father for support, she was horrified to see he was in on this too.

"Momma, let's not…"

"Oh, Honey, it's an important thing for someone to know about you."

Brittany had a feeling they weren't discussing pollen or animal allergies. She turned to her girlfriend seeking clarification. Santana would have liked to stuff her face so she'd have an excuse to pass on this story, but she knew her mother would bring it up again. It was her favorite.

"Fine, but you have to remember I was seven. Okay?" The curious blonde nodded. "Growing up I wasn't exactly a pageant princess. I tore holes in my jeans and ran around with the boys down the street. One day, I decided I wanted to try to be a girl. So I locked myself in the bathroom and experimented with Momma's make-up because I thought that must be what makes a girl, a girl. When she got home, she saw my eyes were darker than usual. She asked about it and I told her I had allergies. End of story."

After speeding to the end, she focused on her plate trying to act like she didn't just relive the distasteful memory. Brittany, on the other hand, was beaming; that had to be the cutest thing she'd ever heard. She was also impressed; she didn't know Santana could be so creative. If the rest of the childhood stories were anything like the one she just heard, Brittany would sit there all night and just listen.

The table was quiet for a moment before Santana blurted out, "All of you stop picturing me as a little girl with raccoon eyes. New subject."

Mrs. Lopez knew she'd done her job, but being the mother she was, she wasn't done yet.

The youngest Lopez shifted in her seat, clearly unhappy with her parents. Noticing, Brittany took her hand and placed it on her lap which made her feel slightly stuck, but if it would calm the jittery woman, she'd manage.

The older, but at times less mature, Lopez's saw the exchange. Mr. Lopez put his hand under the table palm up and upon seeing it, Mrs. Lopez low-fived him. Letting the silence sit for a moment, Mr. Lopez took his daughter's advice and changed topics.

"I noticed a few first aid kits on the floor of your room, Santana. One is precautionary, any more and I'm left to wonder if I should be concerned" Kicking herself for not putting them away, she looked at her father like he had lost his mind. He was acting like her mother which was highly annoying.

Brittany, knowing Santana would make it sound like she was dying on a daily basis, thought about how to word it so it didn't sound like she perpetually put his daughter is harm's way, but that was difficult.

"Well, sir, those are my doing. I would like to say it's not my fault, but, unfortunately, that's not entirely true. I tend to set Santana up for things such as running into a pole, falling off a bench, and burning herself among a few smaller incidences. After the most recent injury, when she cut herself trying to throw the remote at me, I felt it would be safer if she had an large supply of precautionary measures, just in case, so she could take care of herself if I, for whatever reason, wasn't there"

Santana stared at Brittany, shocked that she had turned the tables on her father in such a polite tone. As if she wasn't before, Brittany was all kinds of sexy then. Mr. Lopez was beaming inside at the answer. The fact that she was willing to admit that his daughter seemed to only injury herself when she was around spoke volumes. Keeping his stern father face toward Brittany, he tapped his wife under the table. She took the hint with a smile.

"I need to visit the ladies room. Care to join me?" Mrs. Lopez casually stated, motioning to Santana who had to shake herself from Brittany's mesmerizing presence to replay the request before understanding,

_Shit. Really parents!_

Knowing it wasn't a request she rose from her seat and followed her mother, feeling like a five year old. As the two nearly identical women walked away, Mr. Lopez watched Brittany. He'd seen quiet enough already to know she viewed his daughter.

"May I be blunt?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Lopez smiled at the politeness. "You can stop calling me 'sir'."

"When you stop intimidating me, sir, I will." Now that Santana wasn't there Brittany felt it necessary to show she was, in fact, holding on by a thread. He, no doubt, already knew that, and she was never one for lying.

"I'm not trying to scare you, Brittany."

"Well, you're doing a pretty good job, sir"

* * *

><p>"A bathroom stall is not the appropriate place for this discussion." Santana and her mother had a plastic wall between them but she felt like she was being stared down by 'all-knowing mom' eyes.<p>

"Honey, no place is appropriate for you. All I'm saying is I think she's an attractive woman." Flushing the toilet, Mrs. Lopez opened the door and walked to the sink.

"Somehow, Momma, the fact that you complimented her and then sent crap down to the sewage system, sort of lessens the effect." Santana was anxious to get back to the table exceedingly more nervous of what her father was saying than the uncomfortable nature of her situation. Her mother may be embarrassing but her father spoke his thoughts proudly and without considering the consequences.

"Always the belle of the ball my dear."

"It's hard to be when my parents are acting like their in some twisted episode of The View with special guest Dr. Freakin' Phil!" This is what Santana had been worried about when Quinn said her mother called. "He's been judging her since we walked in the door and now you've got me conveniently locked in the bathroom. Tag team much?"

"You're not locked in here, stop fussing. I'm sure your father is being extremely civil."

"So I can leave?" Santana started toward the door.

"Don't be silly, sweetie."

* * *

><p>"You're an impressive woman."<p>

Brittany reeled back in her chair. She just told him she was terrified and his was impressed. This man was definitely Santana's father.

"You put on this exterior calmness, knowing you were nervous, so that Santana would relax. So far, you've managed to keep my daughter from making a complete fool of herself, which I have to say I was concerned about when I figured out you were coming. You've managed to be respectful in how you touch her, which is both new and appreciated, and you've been nothing but honest since we walked in the door. It's impressive."

Mr. Lopez paused to let the compliment sink in as he took a long drink. When he was by himself he was stern, in control, and mature. The presence of his wife made him feel like a young man again and generally ended with her coaxing him into acting like a teenager. He wasn't complaining; he liked to mess with his daughter every now and again, but over the years, unlike his wife, he'd learned his limits.

"So, please, stop being scared of me. 'Sir' makes me feel old."

Brittany appreciated the mark of approval and it did calm her slightly although, the fact that the Lopez women were still gone was a little unsettling. "Can I still be scared of your wife because she's seemed to have taken my girlfriend away and it doesn't look like their coming back."

Mr. Lopez laughed at the innocence of the question. No doubt, his wife was making Santana as uncomfortable as possible, but that was a normal occurrence. Hopefully she had listened to his plea to not be too imposing.

Brittany let silence take hold of the moment. Mr. Lopez was still a massively large man, but he was gentle. Mrs. Lopez was a beast unto herself, but him she liked.

* * *

><p>"Momma, your hair looks the exact same as it did when you got here. Stop fidgeting with it; you're wasting my time."<p>

Mrs. Lopez continued to find new things to check in the mirror. "Santana, sweetie, you really do need to calm down. It is my right as a mother to dispel the countless childhood stories of you acting adorable and your father has every right to make sure the woman who is taking care of his baby girl is fit for the job."

"Is it my _right_ to be embarrassed for you then, because right now I am."

Mrs. Lopez looked into her daughter's flaring eyes. Clearly she liked this woman far more than anticipated because she had never been so vocal about their actions, at least not in person; there had been a few rather angry voicemails in the past. Maybe she could easy up a little on the overexcited mother bit.

After a few more pointless touch ups, Mrs. Lopez motioned toward the door and Santana all but threw herself at it. Moving swiftly through the maze of waiters, chairs and tiny children, Mrs. Lopez did her best to keep up with her daughter. When she saw the table, she was glad to see that both her husband and Brittany were smiling. If she could survive the tag team, the older Lopez had no doubt she would fit in famously with her family.

Santana pulled out her chair looking like she had been flushed down the toilet a few times. When she sat down, Brittany leaned over. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Santana tried to smile. "For future reference, never go to the bathroom with my mother."

"Why would I go with your mother to the bathroom?" Brittany wondered what would possess her to accompany anyone, over the age of puberty, to the rest room.

"Keep going with that thought process and we'll be fine."

* * *

><p>Finally done scaring their daughter witless and badgering her girlfriend, the older couple backed off and let their daughter tell them about life and the idiots she worked with. Her father was fairly certain they were decent people, but to his daughter, if they couldn't read minds, hers in particular, they were moronic to the highest degree. Brittany retold the story of their relationship, per Mrs. Lopez's unyielding request. Knowing that Santana probably wouldn't want her mother to know all of the details, she gave only a rough outline before deferring to a new topic.<p>

"I was going to eat that!" Mrs. Lopez had reached across the table wanting what was left of Santana's half finished meal.

"Eat faster next time; you know that's my favorite."

"Order it next time."

"Who's paying for this?"

"Daddy!"

"Sweetheart, help me out here." Mrs. Lopez looked at her husband for support. He had to pry away from his side conversation with Brittany, who was wandering if they were always at each other's throats, to answer.

"Santana, please, for my sanity; just agree with your mother." Not waiting to see if his half hearted attempt was successful, he turned back to Brittany.

"This isn't an all the time thing. When one of them is sleeping, they're manageable." He paused looking at his ladies still going at it as though they weren't in public.

"It looks exhausting."

"After a while you get used to it," he said with a smile, watching Brittany accept his statement with no further questions. In his mind, he'd already approved of her, but the more he saw the more he liked. She let conversations fade naturally, eliminating their awkwardness and she never let more than five minutes go by without giving his daughter a reassuring gesture, whether it be a touch or a look or a smile. She was exactly what his daughter need.

"Momma, no. Do not tell that story. I will order you a whole new plate."

The statement caught the attention of Brittany and Mr. Lopez, as well as several other nearby tables. Something about what Santana said to her mother triggered a memory that she had, for good reason, tried to forget. Both were unaware of what the women were talking about, but they, no doubt, were about to find out. The fact that Mrs. Lopez wanted to tell it and Santana would rather it had never happened had Brittany interested.

"You brought this upon yourself." Mrs. Lopez settled in her chair. She would have been content to share no more stories after their bathroom conversation, but she now felt no guilt or shame in sharing this moment in her daughter's life.

"When Santana was six, I was still new to the idea of cooking. One night, I tried a recipe Quinn's mother gave me, and it hadn't gone very well, but it was supper. Her father ate it with no complaints…"

"It's my job to be supportive of your failed endeavors."

"Yes, and you do such a wonderful job, dear. Anyway, my lovely little spit ball of fire here wanted nothing to do with it. She commented on the way it looked, the way it smelled, but wouldn't eat it. At this point, I still had faith that I could parent the rudeness out of her, so I made her get down from the table and go to bed without eating."

"Being my daughter, she tried to prolong bedtime by saying she needed a bath…"

"Honey, let me tell the story."

Mr. Lopez couldn't help but interrupt. This was his favorite memory. While the two adults fought for dominance, a flustered Santana was drawing shapes on Brittany's leg. She noticed but did not react.

"Sorry, carry on." Mr. Lopez saw he was losing and submitted to his wife's imposing presence.

Clearing her throat, Mrs. Lopez continued. "Like I was saying, she'd been playing in the dirt all day so I told her she had five minutes and I wanted her in bed. As I was clearing off the table, I heard her splashing around. It had been almost twenty minutes so I went to get her out. When I got there I hear her singing. Not just any song though, a true Santana original. Stop me if I get this wrong, Honey, but it was something like, 'Rub-a-dub, I'm in the tub. Momma can't yell at me now. I'm cleaning of my supper stuff. Hoping she won't bust my butt, for saying it smelled crappy! Rub-a-dub, I'm in the tub. Momma can't yell at me now!'"

"That's my girl," Mr. Lopez beamed proudly.

"Of course, I let her stay in there for a few more verses before yanking her out but the damage had been done."

Santana could not believe her mother went through with her threat. That was the only memory she had ever truly tried to forget. It was her most creative, but least attractive moment. She never knew such embarrassment was possible, but, once again, her mother proved her wrong.

* * *

><p>The conversation had died down because, as much as Mrs. Lopez would rather not admit it, Santana knew that no other story could do as much damage as the one she just heard. When torturing her daughter's reputation wasn't an option, she didn't have much to say.<p>

Hearing her parents whispering across the table, Santana knew it was past time to go. Although it was hard to fathom, there were ways for it to get worse; her father had yet to do anything abnormally ridiculous. Not wanting to sit around and give him the opportunity, she motioned to move things along.

"We'll be outside. Take your time." Santana didn't care if it was considered rude; in her mind, her parents had no room to criticize anyone.

Her daughter was barely out of sight before Mrs. Lopez turned to her husband who had just requested the bill and was searching for his wallet. "She's not what I expected."

"I don't mind."

"Clearly your daughter doesn't either."

"Thank you," he said to the waiter before keeping his eyes on the invisible line between the check and the cash in his hand, taking his time to turn each bill so they faced a uniform direction. "You need to leave her alone. That's why none of the other ones worked out."

"We didn't do that; that was her being Santana," Mrs. Lopez retorted unimpressed with her husband's lack of interest in what she considered an important conversation.

"No, sweetie, you tend to get overly excited and turn into a fifteen year old girl: not a lot to do and too much time to do it in," Mr. Lopez stated, leaving his actions out of it, knowing they were a by-product of his wife's ability get what she wanted, in a way only a woman could.

"Well I hope she doesn't mess this one up," she said, folding her arms, convinced she had done nothing wrong. "I really like her."

"At least you two can agree on something," he sighed recalculating the tip for the third time, still trying to give his daughter enough space to have whatever moment she'd been so eager to have.

* * *

><p>"I thought we were getting better at communicating."<p>

The pair was standing on the sidewalk, strategically hidden from the windows into the restaurant, just in case her parents had any ideas to eavesdrop. It sounded ridiculous, even to Santana, but after what just happened, she was taking precautions.

"I considered that a success." Brittany didn't see what the fuss was; she had enjoyed herself once she got past Mr. Lopez but apparently not everyone felt the same way.

"I'm sorry; did you miss the window I was drawing? Those were a hint."

"A hint I chose to ignore because I was listening to an extremely entertaining story about my girlfriend singing in a bathtub. Who in their right mind would pass on that opportunity?"

Santana rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, peaking at the door ever few seconds, just in case. Wrapping her arms around the tense woman, Brittany pulled her close so she couldn't run away, which the look in her eye suggested was an option.

"You know, if it's possible, tonight made you more irresistible. I mean it's not wonder I..." she paused, trying to find the strength but choking on her words, knowing that the only thing that made any sense was the one thing she struggled to voice. Sometimes talking to this woman was almost impossible.

Realizing that Santana was about to notice that she never finished her sentence, she leaned down, lifted her chin and settled for kissing her softly, enough to make sure something was said, even if it wasn't enough. The exchange was intended to be simple but as she backed away, Santana pulled her back in, as though she needed clarification.

It didn't matter that the streets of New York were watching Santana could only feel the hands on her back and the way they held her gently, keeping her from moving away. There were strands of hair entangled in her fingers, her hands having moved to hold Brittany's face and she felt the heat of fast paced breathing, the beat of her heart, and shivers down her spine.

Seeing that it was about to get out of control, Brittany reluctantly pulled back, letting her lips linger in desire.

All she wanted to say was 'I love you.'

Why was that so difficult?


	13. The Art of Communication

Author's Note: The end gave me hell because this ends of my first major arch. There's still more to come but part one is done. I love you all and all of the support I've received. Everyone who story alerted and favorited and especially my reviewers. You guys rock my world and are _the_ driving force behind me continuing this story. So yay you! Onward, my wonderful band of readers. Onward.

* * *

><p>Santana woke up with a crick in her neck reminding her to invest in a new couch. Quinn was already awake and the smell of bacon filled the apartment. If there was one thing her roommate could make, it was bacon, although she was fairly certain she wasn't getting a piece. Trying to take Quinn's bacon was about as idiotic as taking food in general away from Santana. It simply wasn't done.<p>

Seeing the stirring woman, the blonde turned the stove down and walked into the living room holding a mug containing the only good thing about mornings: coffee. She was trying to be civil, even though she was still irritated, because she knew the Lopez's were a lot to handle. They weren't her problem but she was genuinely sympathetic to the situation.

"I heard you have had an interesting night."

"She's already gloating about it," Santana questioned as she sat up and grabbed the mug, letting the aroma consume her. It was, to her, the eighth wonder of the world.

"They have both been up since seven 'quietly discussing' their actions. Since they're about as apologetic as you are, it didn't take me long to figure it out."

Santana took a long sip before answering. She wasn't too sure how much of the night Quinn already knew, or better yet how much she wanted to know, she'd been acting distant lately. However, she knew she would understand and she needed someone to have her back.

"They told the tub story."

Quinn's laughter filled the room. She knew the story well. "Somebody made Momma mad."

"Shut up," Santana responded lamely, tracing the rim of her cup. That was not what she meant by wanting Quinn to understand.

"That's not the worst part of it," she continued as she swallowed. "Brittany _enjoyed_ it." Returning to the warmness of her mug, she shook her head. "I do not understand that woman."

Quinn did. Santana was the only person in the world who thought that story was anything less than adorable. She was surprised, however, that they felt the need to tell it.

* * *

><p>Brittany was lying in bed, cursing her missed opportunity to tell Santana she loved her. She wasn't asking for it to come out perfectly, or even all in one breath. She just wanted it to come out, so the whole world could hear it and know she belonged to Santana.<p>

She hadn't known her long, but that was irrelevant. She spent her waking hours thinking of excuses to be around her and she spent her nights dreaming of simply holding her as close as she could, still wanting more. She called just to hear her voice, almost needing it to get through the day even though the sound of it rendered her giddily dysfunctional long after she hung up.

She counted down the minutes until five o'clock, knowing it she would get to see Santana walking toward her, thinking she didn't want to see or cause any other smile. Just that one. Just Santana's. Just her. That was all she needed to know.

* * *

><p>Walking out into the living she found Kurt rubbed his temple obviously trying to ignore Mercedes who Brittany had a feeling had been rambling.<p>

"Good morning."

The pair looked up, eyes following Brittany to the kitchen. She had slept in, which was unusual, although they weren't allowed to ask why, a fact they were both struggling to accept.

Brittany brought her bowl of cereal to the couch and squeezed between her friends. It took her a few bites to fully realize the silence and how it strained the room. She hadn't been around lately to notice their lack of intrigue but it was now transparent that they hadn't asked her a single question in over two weeks; not even 'how was your day.' It was concerning.

Looking at one and then the other, she suddenly felt like she was intruding. "Should I leave?"

"No, you're fine." Mercedes tried to smile but the load of unanswered questions held down her attempt.

Brittany was certain they were up to something. They were entirely too quiet. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Kurt said quickly, giving Brittany's leg a reassuring pat, saving Mercedes from possibly dispelling too much information. The pair hadn't been around Brittany in a while so not asking question was simple, but the fact that she was here in front of them, by herself, was quite tempting.

Watching them squirm on either side of her made Brittany slightly uncomfortable. She went back to her breakfast buying time to figure out what they were hiding, their lack of communication speaking volumes. Emptying her bowl, she rinsed it off in the sink and had had about enough; she had bigger issues to deal with.

"Okay, what did you two do?"

Kurt looked at Mercedes with an 'I told you so' face before whispering, "We should have left before she woke up but _someone_ doesn't know how to listen."

"Hush, you're going to get us in trouble."

As they exchanged a conversation of eye brow raises, small grunts, and a few finger waves, Brittany became frustrated; they made it sound like some covert mission for the CIA. She knew that wasn't the case because Mercedes couldn't keep a secret to save anything but her wardrobe and Kurt would be unable to pull off any sort of stealth mission as he would surely bedazzle the otherwise bland outfits. Still, her friends were acting distant.

"Can you tell me what it's about?"

"No."

"You can leave then," Brittany responded calmly, the pair staring in disbelief.

"You can't kick me out of my apartment, little momma; that ain't how this works."

"There are no secrets in this apartment," she responded, having never understood the need for them. They caused useless arguments and got in the way of living because everyone was running around trying to make sure the wrong thing didn't accidently get told to the wrong person. It was exhausting and she just assumed not be around them. "If you're going to have them that's your business but you can have them somewhere else."

Kurt and Mercedes looked at each other fighting between being shocked at being banished and proud that she had the guts to kick them out. Rising from their seats, since it was hard to argue when Brittany had her serious face one and they were under strict orders from another blonde to not say a word, they grabbed their bags and headed toward the door.

"I hope you know this means you're taking me shopping."

"Uh uh, hell to the no. Last time I went shopping with you, you ran up _my _credit card."

"Well _I_ told you it was dangerous to be here. You should have listened."

"That's the worst logic I've ever heard."

"There is nothing but heart between a man and his need for a mall, his best friend, and her plastic money."

The door shut behind Kurt, their bickering audible until they turned down the stair case. Brittany shook her head. Those two always found a way to turn a situation into either a shopping spree or a trip to the spa.

Leaning on the counter, her thoughts went Santana. They always did. She just wanted to spend time with her, see her, be around her. She would work on her ability to communicate later; she wanted her in the room with her as soon as physically possible.

_I want to see you today, if I can_. She sent the message, hoping she wasn't waking her up. The answer came faster than expected; she hadn't had time to put her phone down. _There's an option?_

_:) My place? I'll think of something fun._

_Be there as soon as I can. _Santana sent the message and placed the phone back in her pocket.

"You know I think they actually feel bad about this one."

"Well, they should!" She had volunteered to help with the dishes, hoping to not have to 'let's discuss last night' talk with her parents but, since Quinn felt the need to have a similar conversation, she was regretting it. "You don't understand. You weren't there. It was like they had been replaced by pre-pubescent morons who have nothing better to do than make my life a living hell hole of humiliation."

Quinn smiled to herself, knowing that Santana's frustration was based more in her feelings for Brittany than her irritation at her parent's actions. They had been acting that way since the two girls were born, and Quinn knew her friend wouldn't have volunteered information earlier if she wasn't having difficultly placing why she cared so much about it. Hell, if she was dating Brittany, she'd be struggling too; the woman was damn near perfection.

"You're doing your 'I know something you don't' smile again." Santana hated that smile more than the 'I just won this argument' smirk; the latter meant they were at least on the same page, the former meant she had no idea what was going on. She might have been working on her control issues but she wasn't cured yet.

Hearing a click, Quinn looked up to see Santana's door open, revealing a composed Momma Lopez holding a bag and a stray pair of shoes.

"You may actually know what I know. You probably don't know that you know, though. Either way, I will definitely enjoy knowing," she stated, being intentionally verbose, knowing it would get a rise out of her friend.

"Ow! Woman that was my leg!" Santana was frustrated with Quinn's cryptic actions and since she was not in the mood to decode them, she dealt with it in her patented, less diplomatic way.

"Santana!" Mrs. Lopez's voice startled the guilty woman who looked at the proud smile Quinn bore, the 'I just won this argument' smile. Now she hated that one more.

"Payback is a bitch," the blonde whispered.

"How old are you, young lady? Kicking has never been appropriate! I know I taught you better than that. No matter how mad you are, you need to use yours words. Words are a sign of maturity, which, apparently, you still lack. I expected more from you," Mrs. Lopez scolded before turning her attention to Quinn. "Honey, are you okay?"

"Yes ma'am, I'm fine. It just shocked me a little," she said, glaring at Santana from the corner of her eye. Now that she had humiliated her friend beyond repair, she was willing to admit that it hadn't hurt nearly as badly as her tone implied.

Santana knew a low blow when she saw one. Quinn was pissed at her for being an arrogant, controlling, mildly egotistical, and anal retentive ass. And thinking back on the past two weeks, to be fair looking back period, she knew the description was accurate. It had been rough for her roommate. Starting with her illness, it continued with having her apartment taken over without being asked, made worse by Santana's inability to notice there was a problem and culminating in the straining visit by the infamous Lopez parents and the subsequent anxiety and dramatics they brought. It was a surprise Quinn hadn't thrown in the towel. Luckily for Santana, Quinn was just as big of a bitch as she was, a trait she oddly admired. She applauded how the woman could turn what she considered a normal aspect of their relationship into a moment of ultimate payback.

Unaddressed feelings of appreciation coupled with being pushed around against one glorious moment of parental intervention.

They were even.

Mr. Lopez walked out of the room to see three emotionally effected women. He knew better than to ask and he didn't think he would care either way; there was no telling with his wife, his daughter. Throw Quinn in the mix and he was certain that he had missed the events for a reason. _Women, _he thought. "Alright, honey, I think it's time to go. It was nice to see you Quinn, take care of yourself sweetie."

Quinn smiled and waved, watching as the three Lopez's left the apartment quietly. The short walk to the parking garage would, no doubt, turn into either an argument or a silent battle of wills. Mrs. Lopez claimed rights, Santana claimed freedom and Mr. Lopez, like the rest of the world, wanted to not choose sides at all. She was more than happy to let Santana handle it on her own.

* * *

><p>"Stop kissing me and get in the car. Daddy, get your wife." Mr. Lopez, strategically standing on the other side of the car, raised his hands in surrender; he was in no way a part of their moment. He was not getting in the middle of a mother and daughter goodbye, especially after whatever he'd just walked in on.<p>

"Who knows when I'll see you again, honey. I have to make sure I leave you with enough love to last until then."

Santana stood defeated. _Why me._

Mrs. Lopez placed one more kiss on her daughter's cheek. "Okay, I'm done. Now, remember, be nice to Quinn, don't forget I like phone calls, and we love you."

"Yes, yes, I love you too." Santana opened the passenger door for her mother. "Now go away."

Mr. Lopez chuckled at how much his daughter was like her mother, they just didn't see it. Climbing into the driver's seat, he started the car signifying that he was ready to go. "There is free food with my name on it, sweetheart. Hurry up."

Maintaining her composure, Mrs. Lopez sat in her seat, buckled up and stared straight ahead; she hated when they ganged up on her. Her husband clicked his seatbelt into place and looked out her window where he met an understanding smile from their daughter.

"Bye baby."

"Bye Daddy," she said with eyes that extended her deepest sympathies for the next few hours of his life. Her mother, much like herself, did not like to be told what to do, particularly about time management, by her husband, in front of her child, in public.

As they drove away, Santana breathed a sigh of relief. She could already see her mother's hand waving around flamboyantly; she hoped her father's free food was worth the bottle of hell he had just unleashed, in an enclosed space no less. _Brave man,_ she thought. But they were no longer her problem; Brittany was expecting her and who was Santana to make her wait.

* * *

><p>"We need to work on your definition of fun…badly."<p>

Santana and Brittany were lying on their stomach and belly respectively in the middle of the floor. They both had pillows hoisting them up as they stared straight ahead. Brittany held her chin in her hands smiling giddily while Santana rested her head in her right hand and drummed her fingers with the other.

"Sh." The blonde reached over and turned the volume slightly up to emphasis her point. Santana huffed, but continued to watch as characters entered and exited, appearing rapidly and vanishing just as fast.

"What the hell is that thing?"

"Watch."

Santana tried but then the scene changed frustrating her further. "Why did..."

"Can you not just wait and find out?" Brittany rolled onto her side, finding a perplexed woman starting to sit up, placing the pillow in her lap.

"There are too many damn story lines, and ridiculous ones at that. Nobody's life is that full of …I don't even know what to call it. It's a random pile of every plotline known to man."

"It all makes sense in the end, but we're never going to get there because of you."

"I'm trying but there's so many flashbacks and flash forwards. I'm getting whiplash!"

Brittany scrunched her eyes trying to understand. "There aren't any time jumps. What movie are you watching?"

"This one." Santana pointed irritated that Brittany considered the ridiculous glow stick movies 'fun'.

Seeing that she was legitimately trying to understand for her sake, Brittany sat up and inched closer taking the container off the floor pointing to each character as she explained them, hoping it would help the woman watch the movie in peace and quiet.

"Okay here we go. This 'thing' is irrelevant; you can forget him or her. I think it's an it actually."

"Well, _it_ looks like a mini Sasquatch overdosed on Rogaine."

"Anyway," Brittany said, more or less overlooking the interruption. "He's more for comic relief, but he does a really cool thing in about twenty minutes."

"Is that when it ends?" Brittany dropped her shoulders and looked at Santana with the slightest hint of annoyance. "Sorry. Keep going."

"Now, he is that guy's daddy but he doesn't know it yet. She is his sister but they don't figure it out until after they fall in love with each other and he, well, he's the awesome old guy who can kick everyone else's butt."

She let the information sit in her head for a minute. Maybe had she not interrupted, her thoughts wouldn't be all over the place, but the explanation was making no sense to her. "So let me get this straight. The Sasquatch minis are in love with someone else's awesomely old father who parented the irrelevant comic relief. No hold on, that's not right. Give me a second..."

Brittany wanted to be frustrated that Santana couldn't grasp the graceful complexities of the George Lucas masterpiece, but the woman in front of her was staring intently at the picture she had just pointed at, trying to make sense of it. Her eyes were scrunched, her mouth muttering Brittany's explanation, her finger pointing to each character, her other hand rubbing the side of her head. She was confused and it was utterly irresistible.

"I love you."

A tiny green man appeared on the screen speaking in fragments, but they were both frozen, focused on the fully developed phrase left floating in the air.

Brittany was searching her brain for why _right then_ seemed like an appropriate time. The previous night would have been a perfect time; this moment was random and not romantic at all. It had literally spilled out of her mouth and for the first time in a while, she had no idea what was about to happen. It could be the greatest verbal slip of her life, or it could easily be the worst.

Santana tore her eyes from the picture she was trying to decipher and found Brittany looking at her with a seriousness she had never seen. There wasn't a way to smart ass her way out of this, no witty comeback to take away the impact those words had on her. Every mental struggle Santana had had over the past two weeks was resolved in a fraction of a minute. They were three simple words, but they shattered the walls around a heart that could care less what Santana thought she wanted; it knew what she needed.

Brittany was hers. And it had taken her long enough to figure it out.

In one fluid motion she had the woman pinned on her back and, by the look in her eyes, could tell she hadn't been expected it. Santana had done well to not force herself physically like she would have in any other relationship, but hearing that she was loved sent her over the edge.

Letting her hand travel down Brittany's side until it sat on the toned hip, she swallowed hard, feeling nervous, anxious, and somehow as though she'd never laid next to a beautiful woman ready to please her. Brittany still had that ability to make her feel like she had never before experienced life as it was meant to be experienced.

Looking up, she found blue eyes searching for an explanation; this was a new, not that Brittany minded. Santana tried to smile but could only answer by pressing her lips against Brittany's as she inhaled sharply. It was just a kiss but it spun her head around, making her certain that she was the only person in the world who knew what a kiss should be.

Feeling a tongue on her own, Santana all but gave up on being any form of dominate. She wasn't kidding anyone; it was clear that Brittany could make her do, feel, or be anything simply by being in the room or looking at her. It was intoxicating, like a drug Santana hoped to never be clean of.

Brittany traced her hands up Santana's thighs to her waist, taking her shirt with her as she reached over her head and tossed to the side before rolling over. Starting from her lips, Brittany left a trail of longing kisses down Santana's neck, shoulder, chest and stomach stopping at the brim of her pants. Feeling the woman shutter against her tenderness, Brittany unbuttoned and slide off the unwanted cloth. Admiring the woman laying beneath her, she let her bottom lip drag a reverse path to awaiting lips, leaving scattered nibbles followed by mending kisses as she went.

The hem of Brittany's shirt moved quickly from her waist to above her head as Santana forced it off, throwing it away, wanting all of her at once and knowing it was too much. Her head was buried in Brittany's shoulder as she clung to the woman, savoring the outline of her muscles, her scent, her breath against shivering skin.

Feeling Brittany's hand glide down her chest to her stomach as though every inch was a prized jewel, priceless and irreplaceable, she whispered, "I love you," like it was a secret, although she wanted to scream it from every skyscraper in the greater tri-state area and have it echo in every alley.

Brittany jetted up, hovering over the woman who looked calm and collected. She watched as a tanned hand reached up, pushing her hair behind her ears. An action that would have, under any other circumstances, made her smile in bliss, gained no response. She was silently praying Santana hadn't said it thinking it was expected. That was the biggest fear in loving someone: having them think they _have_ to love you back.

"You don't have to…"

Santana cut her off, raising herself to be inches away from the visibly concerned woman. She knew Brittany would go through with this whether the emotion was voiced or not but that was beside the point. She had spent her life playing through these motions like a worn movie reel, always the same thing, the same beginning, middle and end. But everything about this was new to her. She had never had someone make love to her, make her feel like she was a treasure, worth every second, every kiss, every touch. And Brittany had managed all of that without truly doing anything.

"I know," she sighed, keeping her eyes anchored on the woman above her. "I can't help it."

The vulnerability Brittany saw told her Santana had probably never been more honest in her life. Every organ in her body was doing summersaults and back flips as she lost herself in the how the woman glowed, radiating beauty beyond recognition.

Santana's kiss drew Brittany back down, her body telling her she may not have started this, but it was certainly hers to finish. Gliding her hand across a shivering leg, her fingertips traveled around Santana's hips to her center where she was met with moans, giving permission to continue.

She paused for a moment, brushing her lips on Santana's collarbone, chest and throat before giving Santana what she was silently begging for.

Brown eyes shot wide open as she felt Brittany everywhere. From the burn as she kept time with the dancer's rhythm, first slow than increasingly more rapid, to the brisk beating in her chest to the arch her back created as she responded mindlessly, all the way to the hairs now standing on her arms. She was everywhere.

Her eyes rolled back leaving her helpless. No control on her trembles and soft whimpers or her voice as it pleaded for more. No control on her thighs when they clamped around Brittany's waist as waves of ecstasy hit her feverously before gently subsiding, allowing another surge to take over, forcing her into oblivion.

Santana breathed heavily trying to regain herself. The only thing her mind could come up with was, _damn. _

Brittany knew she had done something right because Santana could barely move. She knew she was good, but rendering someone immobile was a first for her. It still amazed her that she had such a profound effect on such a stunning woman. Kissing her jaw line, Brittany relished in the warmth of Santana's skin along with the pulse coming from her neck and how it matched the time of her own.

Santana expended what energy she had in flipping Brittany over, finding her lips, using them to gain strength as though Brittany was her personal youth fountain, with whom she would never tire.

Leaving no place untouched by her uncontrollable need to have every part of the woman and never let go, her fingertips traveled the chiseled stomach like she was reading in Braille, not wanting to miss a word, a letter, a mark no one else knew was there. She had never been so gentle before, so caring. But she was willing to try if it would make Brittany feel even a fraction of what she had done for her.

Moving down past her hips, Santana felt a radiating heat and smiled knowing she had quite a bit to do with that. Knowing Brittany was asking for her, and finding it difficult to keep her waiting, Santana stroked the damp cloth gingerly before moving it aside and entering her fingers slowly, watching Brittany shutter as she went deeper, until she heard a small gasp.

Brittany's mind went blank. This woman may have been fumbling mess around her, constantly tripping and falling but there was no denying that, right then, she knew what she was doing. There was nothing clumsy about it. She was certain she had never been touched like that before; the way she let Brittany lead, showing her what she wanted and how she wanted it.

Being in no position to deny her, Santana matched the pace before taking over. Speeding up for a time, she slowed down momentarily, letting Brittany catch her breath before she regained her tempo. She didn't let up until Brittany's gasp turned into a scream; her hips thrusting off the ground seemingly against her will. Santana didn't move until Brittany was flat against the floor.

Laying her body next to the quivering woman, she placed her head in the space between Brittany's shoulder and neck. Wrapping her arm around a shaking stomach feeling it moving up and down rapidly, she was content to never move, letting the thought sit in her head that in all of her tumbling she had managed to make Brittany fall for her too. A lot of it had to do with Brittany's unrelenting chase but Santana took a small amount of pride in allowing herself to be caught; she could have easily kept running.

Brittany felt Santana's cheek bones rise on her shoulder; she was smiling. That was all Brittany wanted, all she needed. And it was becoming painfully clear that it was all she would ever want, the only thing she would ever need. This woman, lying next to her, holding her, smiling.


End file.
